Dancing Minds
by Lady Artimes Blaine
Summary: Sherlock and John embark on a haphazard quest to find an author to create cases for them to solve, but what will Sherlock do when the writer he chooses is more clever than he thought?
1. Chapter 1: The Search

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. The original characters were created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the TV series is owned by BBC and created by Stephan Moffat. (This Disclaimer will only appear in Chapter 1.)**

Chapter One: The Search

London, England

221B Baker Street

10:30 am

Brilliant detective and internet phenomenon, Sherlock Holmes and army doctor, John Watson, were squaring off in another of their infamous staring contests. After several minutes, John finally conceded and looked away. Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh as he rose to his feet and began pacing the room. A little over an hour later, the young detective was playing his violin. He was attempting to compose new piece but his mind refused to focus.

Three hours later, Sherlock had given up on the violin and settled for looking out the window. John, who had set his newspaper to the side, was waiting for the inevitable moment when his best mate would succumb to his boredom. He didn't have long to wait.

"Look at it, John. Peaceful, quiet, and incredibly dull." Sherlock commented his expression of extreme boredom.

John smiled slightly. Sherlock became bored so easily. It was a challenge keeping him entertained when there wasn't a case to solve.

"They said that the show would return as early as Christmas, Sherlock, so be patient." The doctor replied picking up his newspaper again.

Sherlock spun away from the window to look at the former soldier.

"Christmas is ages away and in the mean time there is absolutely nothing to do. No deliciously clever murders to unravel, no brilliantly crafted thefts to dissect, or any complex and bizarre cases to revel in." He countered beginning to pace the room once more.

John set his paper down again.

"I would say create some, but that would be a very bad idea. Besides we would need a writer for that." John commented watching his friend pace.

The detective came to a halt suddenly as his face lit up in excitement.

"Brilliant!" He exclaimed.

John rose from his chair quickly. He was slightly worried that Sherlock was about to take a walk down the path of darkness and destruction and become a consulting criminal like his counterpart, Jim Moriarty.

"What's brilliant?" John asked cautiously.

Sherlock smiled widely at his friend.

"For someone with slightly above average intelligence, you certainly do have a way of sparking genius in others." The detective answered running a hand through his hair.

"What are you going on about, Sherlock?" John asked ignoring the jab to his intellect.

Sherlock placed his hands on the doctor's shoulders and shook him slightly.

"A writer, John, a writer!" He exclaimed as he released his friend and practically danced around the room.

"What about a…Sherlock, what are you scheming?" John asked trying to get his best friend to hold still long enough to answer the question.

The detective came to a stop suddenly and faced his confused companion.

"Instead of waiting for the series to return, we will have our own author create cases for us to solve and finally put an end to this excruciating and unbearable boredom once and for all. How hard can it be to find a suitable candidate?" Sherlock asked happily.

John gave his best friend a dry look. He simply had no idea, did he?

"Quite hard actually. Take into account that you are a very difficult character to write for, let alone accurately. It would take someone as clever as you to be able to write how you see the world, your mind palace, and not to mention the often lengthy explanations you have to give when explaining your deductions to others. Then take into account that they can't be exactly like you, because they have to write the others characters which means actually being in touch with their emotions. I don't honestly see that happening given that it takes an entire team of writers to do the series." John answered crossing his arms.

Sherlock frowned as he processed his friend's answer.

"Then we will simply have to hold interviews." He replied as if it was the answer to everything.

John gave Sherlock an 'Are you being serious?' look.

"Sherlock, there are thousands if not millions of writers out there. Frankly, a vast majority of them are complete and total rubbish. What are the chances of finding and author with a brilliant mind and is well versed in human nature?" John asked already exasperated with this idea.

Sherlock took on a thoughtful expression as he mulled over his friend's query.

"The probability of finding an author whose level of intelligence is even remotely close to my own is 1 in 3,678,464 with a margin of error around 0.0043% once all variables have been calculated. An author being well versed in human nature alone has a much higher probability rating of 1 in 467,582 with a margin of error of 8.652% given that no one knows the true depth and range of human emotions. As for an author with both areas of expertise required for the occupation that we desire is…" Sherlock rattled off but was interrupted by John.

"Shut up, Sherlock." John stated very annoyed.

Sherlock was slightly confused by his friend's sudden shift in moods.

"I was simply answering your question, John." He replied.

"I know, but Sherlock, the question was rhetorical and therefore did not require an answer." John explained.

"Ah, apologies." Sherlock replied.

John nodded slightly and returned to his chair with an exhausted sigh. He was seriously going to regret going along with this idea, but it seemed to mean a lot to Sherlock. Besides he was getting rather bored himself. He did not do domestic life very well.

"So when do we get started?" John asked berating himself internally for opening his big mouth.

Sherlock smiled and John knew that this was going to be the greatest challenge of his patience to date.

"Right now." Sherlock answered his smile growing wider.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Over the course of the next several weeks, Sherlock and John interviewed thousands of writers ranging from young to old, amateur and professional, fictional to fan fictional, male and female. The range and depth of the proposed story ideas was vast and quite a few were simply ridiculous or appalling. Some writers were particularly trying and grating on John's nerves, much like the one in front of him at this very moment.

"Well my story idea is about how you and John are actually lovers and…" One avid Sherlock fan fiction author rambled.

"Next." John replied as said fan/author vanished, "How many times do I have to tell people I am not gay?"

Sherlock opened his mouth to respond, but John shushed him.

"Rhetorical, Sherlock." John stated quickly.

The detective closed his mouth as the next author appeared on the couch. It was a young woman with dark auburn hair, weaved into a single braid down her back. Her forest green eyes sparkled with mischief and amusement. She was wearing fitted blue jeans, a long sleeved v neck white shirt, a crimson leather jacket, black boots, and a beige shoulder bag, most likely containing her laptop.

Sherlock rose from his chair to examine her more closely. She had a decent fashion sense, meaning that she at least had common sense. He stared her down and she didn't even flinch. She was intelligent, that much was clear from her eyes, but was she perceptive as well?

"Impress me." He ordered.

If she rose to the challenge then he would allow her to remain, but if she didn't then she was gone. She simply smiled and stood up. She walked around the small coffee table until she was standing next to him. Though he was slightly taller than her, it didn't stop her from bringing her face close to his. John watched on in fascination wondering what was happening between his friend and the mysterious woman.

She looked deep into his eyes, forest green clashing with his steel blue.

"No." She said her eyes never leaving his.

He smiled slightly. She had spunk, but how far was she willing to go? He leaned in a little closer.

"Then I don't need you." He replied.

She smiled softly, her eyes full of warmth and understanding.

"I'll make myself at home." She countered.

Sherlock had to use all his self control to keep the smile off his face. Oh he liked her; intelligent, perceptive, spunky, and very, very interesting. She moved past him and sat down in his chair, swinging her legs over the arm rest.

"Um…Sherlock?" John asked bewildered.

Sherlock glanced at the woman and she smiled.

"Artimes Blaine." She spoke answering his unsaid question.

She was very good.

"We are continuing the interviews, John." He stated turning towards the couch.

"What about her?" John asked pointing the pen in his hand at the red head lounging in his best friend's chair.

Sherlock glanced back at Artimes.

"Ms. Blaine…" Sherlock began.

"Artimes." She chimed in her eyes alight with humor.

A small appeared and disappeared on the detective's face.

"Artimes is simply an observer. Leave her be." Sherlock stated.

John looked between Artimes and Sherlock and back again. He was very certain that he had missed something very important. As to what exactly he had missed, he hadn't the foggiest, but he knew that things were about to get interesting.


	2. Chapter 2: The Twist

Chapter Two: The Twist

It has been three weeks since the arrival of the mysterious woman, Artimes Blaine. Both Sherlock and John had grown accustomed to her presence and often enjoyed her spontaneous and witty remarks. They hadn't really learned much about her aside from her having an elder brother and that she was a freelance writer for an online site called Hub Pages. Sherlock didn't seem to mind her being a mystery. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it immensely, his own personal puzzle to solve when he got too bored.

Currently, John was sitting in one of the wooden chairs and facing towards the couch. Sherlock was standing a few feet from him; arms crossed, and looked to be five seconds from murdering the writer sitting on the couch. Artimes was reclining in Sherlock's chair, her legs over the arm rest as usual. She had a small laptop in her lap and was typing merrily away.

"Right so Sherlock and Mary are secret lovers and Moriarty is keeping John as his 'pet'. They…" The excited author chattered away.

"Next." Both men said in unison.

The writer immediately vanished, mid sentence.

"If anyone in the universe even cares anymore, I am not gay or a masochist." John commented sourly, rubbing his face with his hands.

Artimes giggled quietly.

"What's so funny?" John asked turning in the chair to look back at the amused woman.

She glanced up from her computer, mischief dancing in her eyes.

"Just the current scoring for all the proposed romantic pairings. It just so happens that the Sherlock/John pairing is the most popular, closely followed by the Sherlock/Jim pairing, and last but not least, the John/Jim pairing; though most of the time, you are his pet, slave, or court jester." She answered trying very hard not to smile.

John's mouth fell open in surprise.

"Dear God, the world has gone mad." John commented hanging his head.

"You're only figuring that out now, John?" Artimes asked a playful smirk on her face.

Sherlock chuckled slightly but was quickly silenced by the venomous look from John. He then shot a glare at the chuckling red head that simply waved him off and continued laughing. She went back to typing and the interviews started up again.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

A few hours later, Sherlock erupted into yet another rant about the evilness of boredom.

"I need action, excitement, something…anything!" He exclaimed while pacing the room.

Artimes smiled slightly as she continued to type on her laptop.

"Be careful what you wish for, Sherlock. You might just get it." Artimes commented barely sparing him a glance.

The detective made a rather undignified noise of frustration before coming to kneel beside the chair she was reclining in.

"Artimes, I need a distraction, the thrill of the chase; some exciting twist to liven up this incredibly boring existence." He stated.

She looked over at him. He was silently pleading with his eyes and she couldn't really turn him down. She liked him too much, but she wasn't going to make it easy for him. Her eyes lit up as an idea formed in her mind. She quickly refocused on her computer and began typing with a renewed vigor. Sherlock stood up and began pacing once more.

"Sherlock, you're going to wear a hole into the floor at the rate you're going." John commented from his chair.

"I'm bored, John, and you know what happens when I get bored." The young detective countered.

"Yes, you become an ass. Oh wait, you're already like that most of the time as it is, so more of an ass than usual." John replied smiling.

Artimes snorted slightly in an attempt to not laugh.

"Your gift of levity knows no bounds, doesn't it?" Sherlock asked annoyed.

"No, I don't think so." John answered happily.

Sherlock was about to respond when Artimes suddenly raised her left hand into the air. A very large umbrella appeared in said hand. She quickly opened it and placed it between herself and the window, creating a shield for her entire body.

"Isn't opening an umbrella indoors considered to be bad luck?" John asked confused.

"For you maybe, me not so much." She answered as she went back to typing.

Sherlock stared at her, equally dumbfounded by her actions.

"You asked for a twist, my dear Sherlock," She said as her right hand hovered over the enter key on her laptop, "and I am more than happy to provide you with a distraction…if only for a moment…one shining, glittering moment."

The detective opened his mouth to reply as she hit the enter key. Suddenly, he was blown off his feet as the windows exploded inwards, shards of glass spraying out everywhere. Artimes remained perfectly safe, shielded by her carefully placed umbrella. John, however, was blown completely over, chair and all, and now had his back on the floor.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Once over the initial shock of the blast, Sherlock rose to his feet. Glass shards fell from his clothes and hair and tinkled when they hit the floor. He staggered over to the window to locate the cause of the explosion. Wreckage lined the street and judging from the debris and the dispersal pattern, the source of the disturbance was a dry cleaning business that had recently moved in across the street.

"What happened?" John asked as he righted himself and his chair.

"The source of the explosion and subsequent shockwave was the new dry cleaners across the street." Sherlock informed still trying to catch his breath.

"Why did it explode?" John asked shaking his head slightly.

Artimes snickered thus drawing the attention of both men to her. Her umbrella vanished and she smiled at Sherlock. His eyes widened a fraction as he remembered her words before the blast.

'If only for a moment…one shining, glittering moment.' Her voice echoed in his mind.

"Because she wanted it to." Sherlock answered looking straight at her.

A knowing smile played on her lips and Sherlock recognized the familiar glint of intelligence that flickered in her eyes. He had to admit that she was good, very good. He had caught a brief glimpse of that intellect when they first met. She was clever, creative, and above all patient. He could see it clearly in her eyes. She was waiting…waiting for the perfect moment to set events into motion.

"Why would you make the dry cleaners explode?" John asked exasperated and still slightly winded.

Artimes looked over at John, slightly surprised. Apparently his question had caught her off guard.

"Isn't it obvious?" She countered clearly expecting more from the army doctor.

"Not to me." He answered.

She sighed heavily.

"Sherlock asked for a distraction." She replied glancing over at the detective, "Was that good enough…or shall I add one more twist?"

"Be my guest." Sherlock answered gesturing for her to proceed with whatever she had planned.

"Don't stand in front of the window." She ordered typing a bit on her keyboard.

"Why?" John asked as Sherlock moved to the opposite side of the room.

Artimes pressed the enter key on her laptop. The shattered glass began to float through the air slowly and the windows began reforming themselves. The trio watched as the explosion slowly reversed itself; allowing them to see the process of destruction become undone and everything returned to as it was before the explosion occurred.

"That's why." She stated smirking.

"That was amazing." John commented in awe.

Sherlock frowned slightly.

"You were expecting more, weren't you, Sherlock?" Artimes asked already knowing the answer to her question.

"Exploding windows; been there, done that." He answered unimpressed.

"Ah yes, Season 1 Episode 3. Don't worry, Sher. I'm certain that something far more entertaining will transpire soon. Have a little patience, dearie." She hinted her eyes sparkling with mischief.

A smile slowly crept onto Sherlock's face. He could feel his anticipation growing. She knew exactly what to do and say to wind him up and he was certain that she would not disappoint. Life was about to become even more interesting very soon and he couldn't wait to see what she had planned.


	3. Chapter 3: The Catalyst

Chapter Three: The Catalyst

Two weeks had passed since Artimes's explosive distraction and once again, the young detective was pacing the length of his flat. He had started doing it more often lately; especially since he was having difficulties figuring out his personal puzzle, Artimes. She was proving to be more of an enigma than he had originally presumed.

John was sitting in his chair, scowling at the newspaper in his hands. Due to the hormones during pregnancy, Mary was being a bit more volatile than usual and John pretty much fled for his life to the safety and security of Baker Street.

Artimes, herself, was rather happy. She was humming along and practically dancing through the kitchen as she was preparing tea for the three of them.

"Settle down, Sher, before you catch the floor on fire with all that pacing." She joked as she placed three cups and saucers on the tray in front of her.

"John, where is it?" Sherlock asked ignoring the red head.

"No." John answered already knowing what his best friend desired.

"It's either that or your gun." Sherlock warned holding out his hand towards John.

Artimes snorted and placed the kettle on the tray.

"The wall would not survive another smiley incident, Sher." She commented as she brought the tray into the living room.

She knelt down and set the tray on the coffee table in front of the couch. She then proceeded to pour the tea into the cups. Once her task was complete, she tried to hand Sherlock his tea, but he waved her off.

"John." Sherlock tried again his eyes practically begging.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, but I can't help you." John replied shrugging.

"I never knew you could be so cruel, John." Sherlock countered his hand dropping to his side.

The army doctor opened his mouth to say something, but Artimes spoke first.

"He's not being cruel, Sher. You ran out over a month ago. There simply isn't any to give you." She informed as she stood up and handed John his tea.

John sipped his tea quietly and decided that he would let Artimes handle the detective. She seemed to be better at it than he was most of the time.

"Then I will get some more." Sherlock stated stubbornly.

Artimes giggled softly and shook her head at him.

"As I seem to recall, you paid off all the shopkeepers within two miles of Baker Street so they wouldn't sell you any." She commented picking up her own tea and settling into his chair.

She smiled into her tea as the young detective growled in annoyance. Within moments, he was back to pacing the room.

"Just calm down, Sherlock. I'm certain something interesting will happen soon." John stated trying to diffuse the tense atmosphere.

"We are trapped in a state of stagnation until the series returns and we have yet to locate a suitable writer." Sherlock countered.

John glanced over at Artimes who was sipping her tea peacefully. He smiled slightly as a thought occurred to him.

"We don't need a writer. We have Artimes." The former soldier said matter-of-factly.

Said red head choked slightly on her tea. She quickly set her cup down on the table in front of her.

"And how exactly would my being here alleviate Sherlock's boredom?" She asked bringing her legs up into the chair and tucking them under her.

"You're the only writer that both Sherlock and I actually like; the only one we both agree on. You have already proven that you are more than capable of shaking things up. There must be something you could do." John answered.

Artimes looked over at Sherlock. She could see his silent request burning in his eyes. He obviously didn't get it yet and neither did John. There was something she was trying to teach them, but they refused to see the bigger picture.

"I don't write the story, John. It writes itself. I simply pen the words." She stated her eyes never leaving Sherlock.

"That may be true, but you do provide the catalyst, the idea that sets the story into motion." Sherlock countered a knowing look in his eyes.

Sherlock believed himself to be so clever, but he was thinking so small. He was only seeing a fraction of the whole picture and even then it was hazy due to his biased views about writing.

"There's more to being a writer than what you understand." She replied.

"Then help me understand." He stated kneeling down in front of her, "What does it mean to be a writer?"

She reached forward with her right hand and stroked his left cheek. Finally she cupped his cheek and looked into his eyes. She couldn't tell him what he wanted to know. It would defeat the entire purpose of what she was trying to accomplish.

"Tell me, Sherlock. What is the point in playing the game if you are simply going to skip to the finale to see how it all ends?" She asked being both cryptic and poetic all in the same breath.

His eyes widened slightly as understanding flickered through his eyes. He placed his hand over hers.

"All I'm asking for is the catalyst. I'll take it from there." He answered bring her hand from his cheek to his lips and placing a gentle kiss to the back of her hand.

"Be careful what you wish for, Sherlock. Life has a tendency of not going according to plan." She warned.

"Things are more interesting that way, wouldn't you agree?" He asked smiling.

She sighed heavily and reached for her laptop on the side table.

"On your own head be it, but don't say I didn't warn you." She conceded.

"Thank you." He replied releasing her hand so she could type.

She opened her laptop and began typing. After a few seconds, she was ready. Her hand hovered the enter key, but she was hesitating. She looked up from her computer and at Sherlock. He nodded and she glanced over at John, who also nodded. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She reopened them as she pressed the enter key.

"The game is on and now we wait." She stated closing her laptop and returning it to the side table.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Two and half hours passed and nothing of consequence had occurred. Sherlock was in the kitchen conducting yet another experiment and John was reading the newspaper once again. Artimes was pacing the room, wringing her hands occasionally.

"Are you certain that it worked?" John asked setting the paper to the side to watch the young writer pace back and forth.

"Of course I am. Life may be spontaneous, John, but it is rarely _instantaneous_." She snapped.

John was becoming very worried. Artimes seemed more emotional than he was used to.

"You seem nervous." John commented trying to find the right word to describe what he was seeing.

He had never before seen Artimes so worked up. It was a little scary. The red head was always so calm, so laid back.

"I have a bad feeling." She replied shooting a worried glance in Sherlock's direction.

So she was worried about Sherlock?

"I'm sure everything will be fine." John replied trying to soothe the distressed woman.

"Feelings are nothing more than an outlet for irrational human emotions and cause unnecessary strife in an otherwise calm situation." Sherlock stated as he removed his safety goggles and came to lean on the opposite wall of the windows with his arms crossed.

"Says the man who succumbed to his boredom and carved a smiley face into the wall of his flat via a gun." John countered rising from his chair so that he could glare at his best friend more easily.

"I am well aware of your views on sentimentality, Sher, but sometimes it's best to go with your instincts. Intuition can be just as useful as deductive reasoning; that gut feeling when you know that danger is lurking nearby." She replied coming to a stop near the window.

She leaned against the wall and looked down at the street below. Sherlock watched her carefully. He saw how the tension was rolling off her in waves and her eyes were storming with great levels of emotion.

The simple act of observing her in this distressed state was stirring some very powerful and very primal instincts, the kind he usually ignored or simply didn't have as a general rule. The fierce need to protect what was his was at the top of the list. In a sense, Artimes was his, his own personal enigma.

He focused his mind, forcing the strange and unwelcomed urges away, until his once again calm and still, but the need to protect her lingered in the recesses of his mind like gentle whispers in the wind. He needed to find some way of calming her without those instincts reemerging.

"What was the catalyst?" Sherlock asked.

She looked up at him, slightly shocked by his question.

"Why?" She asked.

"It could prove useful to know how the story began." He answered.

"I highly doubt that." She replied.

"Why's that?" John asked.

"Well, the catalyst was…" She started pausing a moment to find the right word, "…vague, at best."

"Artimes." Sherlock said looking directly into her eyes.

The two stared at each other for a few moments until Artimes finally conceded.

"In an odd twist of fate, Sherlock's life becomes very interesting." She spoke.

**Special Shout Out to **_**Protagonist of Life**_** for being the first person to review Dancing Minds! Much love, my friend! I posted this chapter early just for you!**


	4. Chapter 4: The Game Is On

Chapter Four: The Game Is On

"That's it?" John asked surprised.

"That's it. I told you that I doubted it would be any help." Artimes answered crossing her arms.

John sat down in his chair slowly.

"That really is vague." Hr commented taking on a thoughtful expression.

"I left it wide open so anything could happen." She replied.

While John and Artimes were talking, Sherlock had ceased paying attention, once the catalyst was known. His mind was turned inward and he was deep within the walls of his mind palace, trying to unravel the mystery of Artimes Blaine.

*Mindscape*

Sherlock stood in the center of a multi-tiered council chamber. Standing before him was the mental version of Artimes.

"In an odd twist of fate, Sherlock's life becomes very interesting." She spoke.

"The catalyst is vague, allowing multiple possibilities to occur, but life has already become interesting. Ever since your arrival, it has been one challenge, one riddle, one puzzle after another. For weeks, you have slowly incorporated yourself into our lives. The question is why. Why become so involved? What purpose does it serve?" He replied walking towards her as he spoke.

She smiled slightly.

"Perhaps there is something you need to learn." Artimes countered walking around him.

"What is it? What is it that I need to learn?" He asked turning to face her.

She stopped and glanced over her shoulder.

"Spoilers." Sher answered smirking.

He growled slightly and walked a few steps in the other direction. Suddenly, he whirled around to face her.

"Is it something only you can teach me?" He asked.

She sat down on the wooden desk that was in front of the elevated podium and crossed her legs.

"Perhaps…perhaps not. Whether or not you learn, is entirely up to you." She answered cryptically.

"How can I learn if you don't tell me?" Sherlock asked closing the distance between them as he spoke.

"You're a clever boy, Sher. You'll figure it out. You always do." She hinted.

His eyes widened slightly.

"It's something I must do on my own." He concluded.

She smiled.

"More or less." She replied her eyes full of warmth.

"And you can't help me." He stated as he leaned down to look her in the eyes.

She cupped his face, stroking his cheeks with her thumbs. She then placed a gentle kiss to his forehead. She moved her face down lower, her lips close to his.

"Silly Sherlock…I _am_ helping you." She whispered against his lips.

*End Mindscape*

Sherlock's mind turned outward abruptly. Artimes was no longer leaning against the wall, but now looking out the window, confusion etched on her face.

"Isn't that Greg?" She asked as John rose to his feet and joined her by the window.

"It is Greg. I wonder what's happening." The army doctor commented.

"Who?" Sherlock asked trying to place a face with the name.

"Lestrade." Both answered automatically.

Both Artimes and John had long since grown accustomed the young detective's forgetfulness. Sherlock was always deleting information from his mind that he did not consider to be pertinent or useful, so Lestrade's name was commonly forgotten.

"Ah." Sherlock replied finally understanding.

"Whatever it is that has brought him to Baker Street, it's clearly upsetting him." Artimes commented frowning slightly.

"Why?" Sherlock asked trying to gleam any information on how the red head's mind worked.

"He's just staring at the door, completely frozen on the sidewalk." John answered.

What would cause Lestrade to act so strangely? Artimes was already ahead him.

"He's struggling. Right now, there is an emotional war waging inside of him. I've only seen Lestrade look even remotely like this, but it was only once. It was when he was forced into an impossible choice." Artimes continued.

"What choice and how was it impossible?" John asked.

"The choice between his heart and his head, to choose either friendship or duty. The choice of whether or not to honor his friendship with Sherlock or honor his duty to Scotland Yard as a detective inspector." She answered.

John looked out the window and exhaled heavily.

"Looks like we are about to find out. He's coming inside." John informed.

The knot in Artimes's stomach intensified to an almost painful level. Her instincts were telling her that something was seriously wrong and she had under a minute to figure it out.

*Mindscape*

Inside her mind, Artimes chose the council chamber that Sherlock had used in Season 3 Episode 2: The Sign of Three. The mental versions of Sherlock, John, and Lestrade stood in front of her; John to the left, Sherlock to the right, and Lestrade in the center. The words she used for the catalyst were being displayed on an electronic screen on the wall behind them.

'In an odd twist of fate, Sherlock's life becomes very interesting.'

"What is that I'm missing? I know something isn't right, but what?" Artimes mused.

She took a closer look at Lestrade's pained expression, the deep levels of conflict swirling in his eyes.

"What could cause Greg to have such an emotional upheaval? For the most part, he stays level headed. What could cause so much conflict?" She asked her eyebrows knitted in confusion.

"Perhaps you should take a closer look at how you phrased the catalyst." A man's voice suggested from behind her.

Sher turned around and saw Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's elder brother, standing behind the large wooden podium. She didn't really like Mycroft, but he commonly pops up when she knows something, but her conscious mind hasn't caught up yet.

"What about the phrasing?" She asked.

"Take a good look and tell me what you see." He answered.

She turned back to the display screen and read through the catalyst carefully. After a few moments, a thought struck her.

"Odd, the word odd. I said in an 'odd' twist of fate, but what would be considered odd for Sherlock?" Artimes asked confused.

"Precisely. He's a consulting detective that solves even the most bizarre and abnormal cases. What would not be normal for such an unusual man like Sherlock?" A woman spoke from her left.

Artimes turned towards the voice. It was Irene Adler commonly known as 'The Woman.' Irene shows up to act as a bridge between her conscious mind, Artimes, and her subconscious mind, Mycroft.

"Sherlock's done everything; brilliant cases, confounding cases, complex cases, touching cases, baffling cases, frustrating cases. The list could go on forever. What hasn't he done?" Artimes asked.

"What hasn't he done?" Mycroft echoed.

She still couldn't pull the pieces together. Something was still missing.

"Why is the inspector so distraught?" Irene asked.

Why was Lestrade so upset? What could make him that way?

"Think, Artimes. You can do it. The answer is within your reach." Irene stated.

Within her reach, but she still had no idea.

"You already know the answer." Mycroft informed.

Did she? How could she have the answer and not know it?

"But I don't…I can't…" Artimes replied trying desperately to put the pieces together.

"See it, Artimes. See it." Irene ordered circling her, "See it!"

Artimes's eyes widened as the pieces started falling into place.

"An impossible choice between his heart and his mind, forced to choose between friendship and duty." She said as the final pieces fell into place.

*End Mindscape*

"Ah shit." Artimes spoke aloud as her mind turned outwards once more.

Both Sherlock and John looked at her in confusion. Unfortunately, neither could ask what was wrong, because Lestrade walked into the room. Sherlock refocused his attention back to Lestrade. The look on the inspector's face was just shy of morbid and his eyes were filled with dread and resolve. Something was clearly wrong.

"I'm guessing something interesting has happened. You wouldn't have come to get me if it wasn't important." Sherlock stated casually putting his hands into his pockets and pushing away from the wall.

The detective quickly took note of the look in Artimes's eyes. He was becoming hyper aware of the changes in her demeanor. It was clear that she had figured out something, some crucial detail he had somehow overlooked. As to what it was, he didn't know. He didn't like not knowing.

"I haven't come here for your help, Sherlock, but I want you to know something in advance. I don't believe the load of bull they are telling me, not for a single second." Lestrade replied.

"Believe what?" Sherlock asked.

"With all due respect, detective inspector, but get to the bloody point." Artimes snapped her eyes taking on a knowing look for a brief moment.

"Interesting choice of words, miss…" Lestrade started.

"Blaine, Artimes Blaine." She answered.

She was a clever woman. She told Sherlock exactly what he needed to know and what she had figured out. Lestrade pulled a folded parchment from inside his jacket.

"I have a warrant for your arrest, Sherlock." Lestrade revealed.

"On what charge?" John exclaimed.

"Murder." Sherlock and Artimes said in unison.


	5. Chapter 5: The Challenge

Chapter Five: The Challenge

John was more than a little surprised that Artimes knew what Sherlock was being charged with. He knew Sherlock would easily figure it out, but how did she know?

"How'd you know?" Lestrade asked slightly confused.

Artimes walked forward a few steps.

"Interesting choice of words." She stated repeating his earlier comment.

"You remarked on her usage of the word 'bloody'. It didn't take a genius to figure out that you were referring to your purpose here at Baker Street." Sherlock elaborated.

Artimes scowled at the detective.

"Some insult taken." She commented.

"Apologies." He replied.

"Hmph." She retorted crossing her arms and looking away.

"It doesn't matter how you knew. It doesn't change anything. Sherlock, will you make this easier and come with me willingly?" Lestrade asked his eyes pleading.

"Hell no! Sherlock is innocent!" John snapped in outrage.

Artimes put her right hand in front of John, who had started moving towards the inspector, most likely with violent intent. John stopped, but his eyes were filled with anger.

"I don't have a choice." Lestrade stated.

"There's always a choice." The red head countered.

"They have footage of the murder taking place." The inspector informed placing the warrant back in his jacket.

"How?" John asked his anger abating but only slightly.

"The CCTV network." Artimes and Sherlock answered simultaneously.

"What?" He asked slightly daunted by their synchronicity.

"The CCTV network is a system of surveillance cameras all over London. The murder was captured by one of these cameras. Footage from the network is reviewed on a bi-weekly basis. Thus the reason they are getting around to arresting me now. They only just found it." Sherlock explained.

"You know, if Sher was going to commit a murder, however unlikely that may be, he is not dumb enough to leave evidence to incriminate himself. So take that warrant and shove it up your ass!" Artimes snapped moving closer to Lestrade.

She had every intention of doing bodily harm to Lestrade, but the sound of Sherlock's voice broke through her momentary lapse in judgment.

"Artimes." He said softly.

She looked over at him. His hand was reaching out towards her. She moved towards him and took his hand. He pulled her completely against him, his other hand on the small of her back, holding her in place. He leaned down and whispered into her ear while John gave Lestrade a verbal whiplashing.

John turned his attention from Lestrade and saw Sherlock whispering in Artimes's ear. He saw her eyes widen as they began to fill with tears. Sherlock raised his head to look in her eyes and she shook her head no. He stroked her cheek briefly before placing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"I have faith in you." Sherlock said softly, cupping her cheek.

John could see her trembling as Sherlock moved towards Lestrade, releasing her hand at the last moment.

"Very well, Lestrade. Arrest me." Sherlock stated almost cheerfully.

"What? You can't be serious, Sherlock?" John asked stunned.

"Look after Artimes for me. You know how much trouble she can get into." The detective requested as Lestrade handcuffed him.

John looked over at Artimes. She looked completely shell shocked, her eyes storming with an emotion he couldn't even hope to comprehend.

"Of course, I promise." John vowed moving to her side.

Sherlock nodded before Lestrade led him from the room and down the stairs. Tears began to flow unbidden and unnoticed by the oddly silent red head. John placed his hands on her shoulders.

"Artimes, what did Sherlock tell you?" He asked.

For a few moments, she said absolutely nothing.

"Artimes, what did he whisper in your ear?" He asked again while trying to dry her tears.

Finally she blinked then moved away from John.

"He…He…" She started but stopped as she was having difficulties finding her voice.

"He what?" John asked giving her space.

"He thanked me. He bloody thanked me and then told me not to do something stupid like blame myself for him being arrested." She answered her words coming out in a rush.

"He's right. It's not your fault." John replied as she moved over to the window.

"But it is, John. I figured it out, the reasoning why I had a bad feeling. I figured it out right before Greg came in." She countered her hand clenching and unclenching.

"So that's why you cursed." John stated.

"Yeah. It was in the wording, John. I should have seen it sooner, but I was just too thick headed to realize it." She ranted angrily.

"Realize what?" John asked.

Artimes took a deep breath and tried to settle herself.

"Tell me, John. What would you consider to be abnormal or odd for Sherlock Holmes?" She asked.

He thought about it for a moment and realization dawned on his face.

"I believe being arrested for a murder he did not commit would fall into that category. He may be an obnoxious asshole, but he's not a cold blooded murderer. He would never do that. He's too much of a hero." John answered.

"Precisely." She responded as Lestrade opened the door of his police car.

Sherlock looked up at the window, in his eyes was a question burning. He knew exactly what she was going to do. She smirked and nodded. The young detective's face split into a grin before he seated himself in the police car with great deliberateness and dramatic flair. He had made such a silly production of it that Artimes had to smile.

"He said something else to you, didn't he?" John asked as the Lestrade got in the car and drove away.

Artimes dried her tears and squared her shoulders.

"You're right, he did." She answered.

"What did he say?" John asked clearly curious.

She turned from the window and faced him.

"Solve it." She answered simply.

"What?" John asked.

"He wants me to solve the case, John. Find out who is framing him, how they did it, and why they did." Artimes answered.

"Well if anyone can do it, you can." John stated confidently.

Artimes looked at the army doctor like he was crazy.

"Are you mad? I am nowhere near as clever as Sherlock. I can't do it, John." She retorted.

"You can do it, Artimes. Sherlock has faith in you and so do I. You have risen to every challenge set before you. This time will be no different." John encouraged conviction ringing in every word.

"You really think I can do this?" She asked still not quite believing it herself.

He closed the distance between them and took her hands in his.

"I know you can. Now where do we start?" He answered immediately getting her to focus on the task ahead.

Artimes thought for a moment.

"I would say we need to hack into the CCTV network and took a look at the evidence. I'm good with words, John, not hacking, but I need to see the footage Lestrade was talking about." She suggested.

John frowned.

"Unfortunately, I am just a doctor. I don't know the first thing about hacking. It's a bloody miracle that I can use my laptop properly." John replied.

"Says the man who writes about his crazy and ridiculous adventures with the world's only consulting detective in his personal blog." Artimes countered releasing John's hands and began pacing the room.

"That doesn't make me a computer expert." John commented.

Artimes continued pacing, trying to think of a solution to their predicament.

"How do we get a hold of that footage?" She mused aloud.

After a few minutes, Artimes suddenly stopped in her frantic pacing as her eyes lit up with an idea. She turned and faced her companion.

"John, you wouldn't happen to know of a way to get in contact with Mycroft, do you?" She asked.

"Of course I do. I have the number for his mobile. Why?" John answered confused.

A smirk crept onto her face which made John very nervous.

"Think you could arrange a meeting?" She asked.

"Sure, but why?" John asked.

"I'm certain that a government official such as Mycroft, who has an entire system of connections, could, in theory, be more than capable of procuring something as simple as a few minutes of footage from the CCTV network." Artimes answered.

"Oh my God, you want to ask Sherlock's elder brother to help us?" John asked surprised.

"Oh yeah." She answered crossing her arms across her chest.

"You do realize that Sherlock will kill us both when this is all over, right?" John commented already pulling out his mobile.

"Whatever the price, I will gladly pay it if it means saving Sherlock. I don't care if that means shaking hands with the devil himself. I'll do whatever it takes." Artimes replied her eyes burning with the fires of determination.

"God help the poor sod that thought framing Sherlock was a good idea." John commented as he began dialing Mycroft's number.

"Why's that?" She asked.

"Because they have unleashed the fury and wrath of Sherlock's girlfriend." He answered smiling.

Artimes blushed prettily.

"I am not his girlfriend." She denied hastily.

"Not yet." John countered smiling even wider.

Artimes glared at the former soldier with pure venom, her blush deepening.


	6. Chapter 6: The Meeting

Chapter Six: The Meeting

A few hours after Sherlock had been arrested, Artimes and John were seated in a car and being driven to an unknown destination. Artimes was seated on left and John was on the right.

"Did Mycroft get what we need?" Artimes asked looking out the tinted window.

Judging from the buildings they were passing, she concluded that they were heading towards the warehouse district. She was really glad Sherlock took the time to get her familiarized with the less viewed areas of London, but did his elder brother have to be so dramatic?

"That's what he said over the phone. He also said that he had a few ideas of his own." John answered.

Artimes rolled her eyes in annoyance. She didn't particularly care for Mycroft, but as she had told John before, she would shake hands with the devil himself if it meant saving Sherlock. Mycroft was pretty damn close to being the Prince of Darkness; though she was certain Moriarty was actually the King of Hell.

"Of course he does." She replied acidly.

"You don't like Mycroft, do you?" John asked as she crossed her legs.

"Do you? He thinks Sherlock is stupid and that he is the smart one…arrogant prick." She answered her tone still acerbic.

"This was your idea." John pointed out.

She twitched slightly.

"I am aware of that, John. I'll do whatever it takes to save Sherlock…including dealing with the pretentious asshole that is his brother." She responded crossing her arms.

"Yep." John concurred his tone slightly amused.

"What?" She asked knowing there was more he wanted to say.

"You are so Sherlock's girlfriend." John answered smirking.

"Will you stop saying that? I am not his girlfriend for two very specific reasons. The first is that he hasn't asked and the second he doesn't care for me in that way. We're friends, nothing more." Artimes retorted.

"You sleep in his bed, Artimes." John pointed out.

"Your point?" She asked.

"I know of only two people who have slept in his bedroom…" He started.

"Irene and Janine." She interjected.

"Precisely. He doesn't do that for just anyone. He does actually care about you, Artimes." John continued.

She wanted to believe him, but she knew better. Sherlock and herself have only known each other for a little under two months. There was no way she had any influence on his life, let alone his emotional state.

"No, he doesn't." She replied quietly.

"Would you date him if he asked?" John asked innocently.

"Yes." She answered without hesitation.

Realizing what she had just said, she gasped and John chuckled quietly.

"Shut up, John." She spat thoroughly irritated by the army doctor.

"I didn't say anything." He replied.

"No, but you were thinking it." She countered.

There were a few moments of silence.

"Maybe." John said quietly.

There was a loud whack as Artimes smacked the back of John's head.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

They finally arrived in one of the deeper and more remote sections of the warehouse district. The weather was bleak and gray. It suited the scene all too well as they exited the car and were escorted inside the closest warehouse. They were left to wait in an open area. It was dark, dank, and foreboding. Shadows danced along the walls giving the place that eerily dreary feeling.

"Why couldn't we have met him in a café? Why does he always insist on being such a drama queen?" Artimes asked glancing over at John.

"I see that you share my brother's gift for expression, Ms. Blaine." Mycroft stated coming out of the shadows.

She gave him a rather bored expression.

"Am I supposed to be impressed that you know who I am?" She asked snidely.

"You _are_ quite the pistol. I see why Sherlock likes you so much." Mycroft commented leaning on his close umbrella.

"As if you know anything about women, Mycroft. You live in a world of goldfish and revel in your perfect little bubble of arrogance and isolation." Sher countered.

"It would seem that my dear brother has passed along his distaste and animosity of me onto his delectable girlfriend." Mycroft concluded.

"On the contrary, Mycroft. My animosity and distaste is entirely my own. Now get off your soap box for five minutes so we can get down to business. I don't have time to indulge you in your childish word games." She countered coldly.

John immediately noticed that she didn't deny being Sherlock's girlfriend. He was pretty certain that she wanted to avoid a long winded argument with Sherlock's very stubborn elder brother.

"Americans, always so impatient. I do have the footage you requested from the CCTV network; however, there was only footage from a single camera." Mycroft stated.

"You and I both know that Sherlock would never be so careless to leave evidence behind to incriminate himself." Artimes commented.

"My brother may be many things, Ms. Blaine, but you are right. He is neither careless nor foolish enough to let that happen." The elder Holmes concurred.

"Taking into account that the footage is from a single vantage point, the true murderer would simply keep his back to the camera, preventing any conventional means of facial recognition by being aware of the camera's exact location and adjusting accordingly." Artimes continued.

"Correct and thus framing my dear brother for a crime he did not commit, but there is a secondary problem that you are overlooking." Mycroft replied.

"What problem?" John asked confused.

"Sherlock's alibi." Artimes answered.

Mycroft smiled slightly. The red head was proving to be quite interesting.

"He doesn't have one, does he Ms. Blaine?" He asked gauging her reaction.

"I'll be the judge of that." She answered smoothly.

"How" John asked trying to keep up.

How was she going to answer him? Was she all talk and no real intelligence or was she something new?

"All footage from the CCTV network has a time and date stamp, commonly found in the lower right corner depending on the make of the camera. By viewing the footage of the crime, I can assess whether or not Sherlock has an alibi for the time of the murder or not." Artimes explained.

So she was indeed smarter than most. She was already on par with Sherlock, but Mycroft believed there was more to her than what he was seeing.

"And if he doesn't?" John asked.

"Then we go with Plan B." She answered.

"And what exactly is Plan B?" john asked.

The red head chuckled nervously.

"I actually haven't come up with a Plan B just yet, but I'm certain it will be a good one." She answered smiling.

Mycroft's eyes narrowed slightly. He saw it for a brief moment. She was lying. She had a plan already, but she was unwillingly to share it with Dr. Watson. No doubt her plan was contingent on his continued support.

"Oh dear God." John said in exasperation.

"Never send a woman to do the work of a genius." Mycroft commented.

Artimes's eyes narrowed in a cold glare. It was no wonder that Sherlock didn't like his brother. Mycroft was an obnoxious ass and a sexist to boot. She was going to prove him wrong. She may not be as clever as Sherlock, but she was creative and she was going to show Mycroft Holmes just what she was capable of.

**Author's Note:** There has been a request for further detail into how Artimes developed her friendships with Sherlock and John. Have no fear, it will be coming soon. Chapter 13 will hold a series of flashbacks mainly from Artimes's perspective revealing her unlikely friendship with the consulting detective. In a future chapter, there will also be a series of flashbacks from John's perspective revealing how is friendship formed with the young writer. Just bear with me until then and I humbly apologize for the lack of backstory. This fic was originally done for another site and there was a bit of a time limit, so it is a little choppy, but once you get past chapter 10 things will begin to even out into a better flow.


	7. Chapter 7: The Alibi

Chapter Seven: The Alibi

"Enough of this idle chit chat, Mycroft." Artimes stated a hard edge to her voice.

Apparently, his comment had upset her. Emotions were such fickle things and not really worth his consideration.

"Quite right." Mycroft replied gesturing to what looked to be a metal oil drum nearby.

On top of the drum was a laptop, already powered on. The trio walked over to it and the elder Holmes quickly pulled up the footage from the CCTV network. Artimes watched the footage carefully, storing every bit of it into her mind to analyze later. She had been right about the killer keeping his back to the camera. He knew exactly where it was and made certain his face was never seen. It was rather brutal to watch. The murderer was stabbing the young woman repeatedly with a knife in his left hand.

There was something off about the murderer, something that didn't fit into Sherlock's physical description. As to what it was, she wasn't entirely sure. He did, however, have a similar build and height to the consulting detective. He had the same pale complexion and dark hair as Sherlock too. The clothes he was wearing in the footage were identical to those Sherlock usually wore. If she didn't trust Sherlock completely, she might have been fooled by the crime footage.

Artimes glanced at the time and date stamp in the bottom right corner. A ghost of a smile played on her lips.

"It looks exactly like him." John commented stating the obvious.

Yes, from behind the killer and Sherlock were almost completely identical, but that is not what she needed John to focus on.

"Plan A, it is then. A as in Alibi. Sherlock has an alibi for the time of the murder." Artimes informed smiling.

"He does?" John asked slightly surprised.

"Yep, take a close look at the time and date reference, John." Artimes answered as John bent down to take a closer look.

Artimes quickly pulled out a small notebook, tore a page from it, wrote down a few things, pulled a few things from her wallet, and placed everything into an envelope. She sealed it shut quickly and wrote 'Urgent' on the front. Mycroft watched her carefully, a knowing look dancing in his eyes. She glanced over at him and he nodded slightly.

"Hold on, isn't that the day Sherlock took you to that Italian restaurant on the other side of London?" John asked straightening up.

"Indeed it was, but that was later in the evening. Earlier that day, Sherlock introduced me to some of the people in his homeless network, to try and build up my connections in London. At the time of the murder, he and I were talking to Sarah. She hangs out near the abbey on Manchester Blvd." Artimes explained.

"The two locations are too far apart for Sherlock to have committed the murder and get back to you. We have to go and tell Lestrade." John replied turning to leave.

"Not yet." Artimes stated hurriedly.

"What do you mean not yet?" John asked as he turned around, anger flickering in his eyes.

"Sarah is difficult to find and very good at avoiding the police. Lestrade would have to speak to her personally and she would never come out for a cop." Artimes answered.

"So what do we do?" John asked his voice determined.

Artimes held up the envelope.

"Deliver this to Sarah. Tell her it's from me. She'll understand once she opens it." The red head answered handing John the envelope.

"What's in it?" John asked placing the envelope inside his jacket.

"It's a set of instructions. Basically she sees me, she comes out. Don't open it. Otherwise she won't believe the contents." She answered.

"What are you going to do?" John asked.

"I'll be dragging Lestrade across London." Artimes answered smirking.

"Alright. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we get Sherlock back." He replied walking briskly away from the pair.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

When John was gone, Mycroft spoke.

"You are far more clever than I gave you credit for." He complimented.

Artimes began walking towards the elder Holmes' personal car.

"I have my moments." She responded not even sparing him a glance.

"You underestimate Dr. Watson. He will figure it out eventually." Mycroft informed walking towards the car slowly.

Artimes chuckled softly as she opened the back passenger door. She looked over at the official, a smile on her face.

"Believe me; I don't underestimate John in the slightest. I know that he will work it out and when he does, I will tell him the truth and why things occurred as they did." She countered getting into the car once she was done speaking.

Mycroft joined her shortly, much to her chagrin, but it was a necessary evil.

"So you took into account his strong moral principles and his loyalty to Sherlock when devising a solution that would benefit your plan rather than hinder it. That's quite brilliant." He complimented as both doors were closed.

"Where to, Sir?" The driver asked.

"Scotland Yard." Mycroft answered.

The vehicle began to move and he returned his attention to his beautiful and temporary companion.

"Brilliant yes, but not exactly ethical." Artimes commented crossing her arms.

"Ethics is nothing more than a para-connection to sentimentality, a chemical defect found in the losing side." Mycroft retorted.

"So says the man who convinced John Watson to lie to his best friend to spare his brother's feelings when Irene Adler, Sherlock's first love, was executed by beheading in the Middle East." Artimes countered a knowing look in her eyes.

"You are quite the extraordinary woman. I like you." The official stated his words honest.

"The feeling is _not_ mutual." Artimes replied closing her eyes and resting her head on the seat.

"Such a shame." Mycroft stated a little put out as he shifted his gaze away from her and out the window.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Twenty minutes later, Artimes was standing outside the high rise that was Scotland Yard. She entered the building quickly and asked the desk attendant where Detective Inspector Lestrade's office was. One of the secretaries was kind enough to escort her to the floor his office was located on.

Artimes weaved around the many desks, narrowly dodging Sergeant Sally Donovan who was rushing about with a large pile of paperwork in her arms. Finally, she made it to Lestrade's office. Once certain that he was alone, she quietly slipped inside, barely making a sound.

The detective inspector was sitting behind his desk, sifting through paperwork. He looked to be on the verge of collapse, his face revealing his exhaustion. Apparently arresting Sherlock had emotionally steam rolled the poor man. Her heart ached for him. She was going to lie to him to save Sherlock, but it might undo some of the damage already done.

"When was the last time you took a break, Greg?" Artimes asked casually as she walked up to the desk.

He looked up at her, his eyes looking so much older than his actual age. Again her heart clenched painfully.

"Ms. Blaine, what can I help you with?" Lestrade asked leaning back in his chair.

"Let Sherlock go." She requested.

"You know I can't do that, Artimes." He replied.

"And I know you can under the right circumstances." She countered.

"And what circumstances might that be?" He asked tiredly.

"If the suspect in custody was proven to be elsewhere at the time of the murder." She answered smiling slightly as her words took effect on the inspector.

"You mean Sherlock has an alibi? Wait, you don't know when the murder took place. I never told you." Lestrade countered.

"Ah, but I do. Thanks to John, I was able to pull a few strings and get my hands on the crime footage. The day of the murder, Sherlock took me out to dinner at an Italian restaurant across town. That was around 9:30 pm." She started placing her hands on the desk.

"The murder was at 8:17 pm." Lestrade pointed out.

"Let me finish." She snapped lightly.

He raised his hands in defeat.

"Earlier that evening, Sherlock introduced me to some of the people in his homeless network. At 8:15 pm, we were talking to a woman named Sarah over by the abbey on Manchester Blvd. So unless Sherlock could magically teleport himself to the scene of the murder, stab someone to death, and miraculously reappear by my side in under two minutes then he is innocent." Artimes finished straightening up and crossing her arms.

"I would need to talk to this woman and verify the alibi. Otherwise I can't let him go." Lestrade stated.

"That's why I'm here. Sarah would never reveal herself to a cop, but if you're with me, she'll know that it's safe." Artimes informed smiling.

For a moment, Lestrade went a bit bug eyed, but then practically leaped from his chair. He quickly put on his coat and grabbed his keys.

"Then what are we waiting for?" He asked impatiently, leaving the office with Artimes close on his heels.

The red head had to work very hard to keep the grin from creeping onto her face. She was happy that Greg wasn't so depressed anymore. At least something good came out of this ridiculous plan of hers.


	8. Chapter 8: The Release

Chapter Eight: The Release

Less than fifteen minutes later, Artimes and Lestrade were walking down the alley that ran alongside the abbey.

"So where is she?" Lestrade asked getting impatient.

"Relax, Greg. All this stress is bad for your health." Artimes commented as they continued down the alley.

"How am I supposed to relax when I was forced into arresting a close friend and the woman who can offer him an alibi is nowhere to be seen?" He countered heatedly.

Artimes stopped and Lestrade followed suit.

"Good things come to those who wait, so have a little patience." She replied.

Lestrade growled in frustration, but waited all the same. They didn't have to wait too long. A young woman with dark blonde hair and green eyes appeared from behind a dumpster and walked over to them.

"Hello Sarah. This is Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade." Artimes introduced, "Greg, this is Sarah Jenkins, a member of Sherlock's homeless network."

"Pleasure to meet ya, sir. Sherlock's mentioned ya a time or two. Whatcha be needin' from me?" Sarah asked.

Lestrade quickly launched into his interview and after a few moments, he had the alibi he needed to free Sherlock from police custody.

"Thank you very much for your help, Ms. Jenkins." The inspector said gratefully.

"Anytime, mister. Anything to help out Sherlock and his girlfriend." Sarah replied gesturing to the red head.

"I'm not his girlfriend." Artimes stated slightly annoyed.

"That's the word on the network, Arty. Everybody's sayin' it." Sarah informed.

Artimes mumbled a few profanities.

"Thanks, Sarah." She said after a few moments and walked off.

"Laters." Sarah answered also leaving.

Lestrade quickly caught up to the fuming red head.

"You have to admit that she had a point." He stated.

"And what point is that, Greg?" She asked quickening her pace.

"You're doing all of this for a man you've known under two months and Sherlock would never compromise his network by revealing it to just anyone. By your own words, he wanted you to have access to the homeless network should the need ever arise." Lestrade continued.

"Is there a point in there somewhere?" Artimes asked making her way over to his police car.

"Yeah, you're Sherlock's girlfriend." He answered bluntly.

Artimes stopped and whirled around to face the inspector, her eyes flashing in anger.

"Why does everyone keep saying that? John, Mycroft, Sarah, and you have all said it. There is nothing going on between me and Sherlock. As you have said, we barely know each other. He doesn't care about me like that and he probably never will." She snapped.

"But you care about him, don't you? That's why you're going through all this trouble. You would do anything for him, no matter how much it would hurt you in the process. Sherlock is a lucky man to have a woman like you be so loyal to him. I wish there was more people like you in this God forsaken world. It might actually be a decent place to live, if that were the case." Lestrade replied.

Artimes simply looked at the inspector, her anger completely dissipated. Greg wasn't the smartest person in the world, but he had a noble heart.

"Maybe, maybe not, but I won't ever give up on Sherlock, no matter how difficult things get. Even if there comes a time that he doesn't want me around anymore, I'll always be there for him. He may not believe that he's a hero, but I do. He's got a heart of gold buried under all that ice. It's the reason why he's a detective and I think it's about time we get him back to his chosen occupation, wouldn't you agree?" She stated smiling.

Lestrade returned her smile with one of his own and the pair continued onto the police car.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Artimes and Lestrade returned to Scotland Yard and the inspector immediately left to file to paperwork needed to release Sherlock from custody. Artimes waited down in the lobby, sitting in a not so comfortable chair. John entered the lobby, spotted Artimes, and made his way over to her. He sat down in the chair next to her.

"Did everything go to plan?" John asked.

"Yes, Greg is doing the paperwork now to release Sherlock." She answered.

"Good, good, that's very good." He replied.

Artimes sighed heavily. Something was obviously bothering the army doctor.

"What is it?" She asked.

He leaned closer to her.

"Why did you give Sarah money?" John asked quietly.

Artimes didn't respond.

"There was money in that envelope and I want to know why." John stated.

"Do you trust me, John?" She asked.

"Of course I do." He answered.

"Then I will explain it later, but you are going to be very upset with me when I do. I apologize in advance." She replied.

"I'm certain that there is a reason why you didn't tell me." He stated.

"The reason was Sherlock. I had to do things a certain way if I was going to get him out of jail." She explained.

"Then in advance, I forgive you, because that is a very good reason." John replied.

"Is it? I'm not so certain." She countered.

John sighed heavily.

"Look, I know how much you care for him and I know you had to do things a certain way. You were doing what you thought was best and I will do _my_ best to give you as little grief as possible, but even if I do get mad, I won't stay that way long. You're very hard to stay angry at." He commented smiling.

Artimes rose to her feet. She smiled softly down at him.

"You're good man, John, and I'm glad we're friends. For the record, I care about you too and I would do whatever it takes to save you, should there ever be a need." She replied.

John stood up and smiled at her.

"Let's hope that never is one." He countered.

Artimes smirked slightly.

"I wouldn't be too sure, given your track record." She replied crossing her arms.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Sherlock stood, leaning against the wall of his cell. His arms were crossed and his eyes were closed. He was sifting through what little information he had, considering that he hadn't had the opportunity to view the footage from the CCTV network, so he had very little to go on.

"Sherlock." Lestrade called as the door of the cell was opened.

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at the smiling inspector.

"Do what do I owe this misfortune of your visit, Lestrade?" He asked slightly annoyed that he had been interrupted.

"Your release…unless you want to make this cell the new Baker Street?" Lestrade answered.

Sherlock's eyebrows knitted in confusion.

"My release?" He echoed.

"You're free to go." The inspector stated moving to the side so Sherlock could exit the cell.

The confused detective pushed away from the wall and walked out of the cell.

"This is rather unorthodox, releasing a suspected murderer from custody when there is clear evidence proving his guilt." Sherlock commented as the two began walking away from the cell.

Lestrade chuckled softly as they left the holding area.

"It isn't when the suspect in question has an alibi for the time of the murder." He informed as he retrieved Sherlock's belongings and returning them to the detective.

"How ever did you manage that?" Sherlock asked curious.

Once sorted, the two made their over to an elevator.

"I didn't. Your girlfriend did." He answered as the elevator doors opened.

The two entered the elevator and the inspector hit the button for the correct floor.

"Girlfriend?" The detective echoed.

"Yeah, the gorgeous red head at your flat, Artimes Blaine. She provided me with your alibi and the eye witness account to back it up." Lestrade explained.

Sherlock twitched slightly.

"I told her not to get involved." He stated.

"Well if she hadn't then you would have been convicted of murder before the end of the week. She saved you, Sherlock, so try to show a little gratitude." The inspector replied.

Sherlock didn't respond. He knew it had been a long shot asking Artimes to not get involved. In fact, he was ninety two percent certain that she would rebel against the idea of inactivity, especially since someone she identified as a friend was in clear signs of danger. She was incredibly stubborn and very persistent.

She would not allow someone she cares for to come to harm, in any way. Like John, she was a good friend…and clever enough to create an alibi in only a few short hours. He suspected that Mycroft was somehow involved. It was the only explanation as to how she learned of the exact date and time of the murder to create the alibi he required. The only question that remained was how much of her plan did she reveal to John.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

"Are you saying I am some sort of damsel in distress?" John asked incredulously.

"I would never insult you by calling you a damsel, John." Artimes answered smiling.

John glowered at the red head and she laughed merrily. Sherlock and Lestrade approached the pair.

"It's nice to know that my absence has not affected your sense of humor, Artimes." Sherlock commented.

"You were gone?" She asked smirking.

Sherlock smiled slightly.

"He's all yours, Artimes. Try not to lose him." Lestrade commented an amused look in his eyes.

Artimes's eyes narrowed, knowing exactly what the inspector meant.

"I'll do my best, but remember to take a break every once in a while, Greg. You're no used to anyone if you're dead on your feet, pun intended." She replied while shaking his hand.

"I'll take that under advisement." Lestrade stated turning to leave.

"Uh huh." She answered knowing full well that he wouldn't.

Lestrade left the trio and headed back to his office.

"You alright, Sherlock?" John asked.

"I'm fine, John; though I was significantly bored." Sherlock answered, "I thought I told you not to get involved?"

Artimes smiled at the detective.

"You also told me not to blame myself and to not do anything overly impulsive. You go two out of three." She stated crossing her arms.

"Wait, I thought…" John started confused.

"Later, John." She interjected.

So Artimes did not tell John her plan or at least a vast majority of her plan.

"Perhaps we should take this conversation to a more appropriate venue?" Sherlock suggested.

"Let's go home." Artimes replied taking the detective's hand and leading him out of Scotland Yard with John closely following.


	9. Chapter 9: The Truth

Chapter Nine: The Truth

Once the trio had returned to Baker Street, all eyes turned to Artimes, who was reclining leisurely on the couch; her socks and boots were discarded nearby and her head was propped up by her right hand. John was standing on the other side of the coffee table and Sherlock was leaning against the wall, next to the door.

"You said you would explain later, Artimes. Well it's later, so start talking." John stated crossing his arms.

Artimes didn't respond right away. She glanced over at Sherlock, who nodded his head in John's direction slightly. She turned her attention back to John.

"John, Sherlock didn't tell me to solve the case. He told me not to get involved." She began.

"I figured that much out. So you lied to me, why?" He asked anger already seeping into his eyes.

She looked away from him and down to the floor.

"If I had told you the truth, that Sherlock didn't want me to get anywhere near this case, what would you have done if I had insisted on proving Sherlock's innocence anyway?" She countered looking back up at him.

"I would have kept my promise to Sherlock. I would have kept you safe." He answered his arms returning to his sides.

She sat up and looked directly into his eyes.

"You would have stopped me, John. You would have done everything in your power to keep me away from the case to keep your promise to Sherlock." She stated her eyes holding a knowing look.

John looked away from her, his jaw tight. He was more than a little peeved that she had lied to him, but she was also right. To keep her safe, he would have stopped her.

"And the envelope? The money?" He asked looking back at her.

Her eyes became very sad and pained and John's anger began to ebb away.

"Sherlock didn't have an alibi for the murder...so I created one." She answered her eyes shimmering slightly from the tears beginning to form.

"So…so you lied to me again." John stated his hands clenching into fists.

Just how much did she keep from him? Why couldn't she have trusted him, just a little bit?

"Yes, but I didn't lie altogether. Inside the envelope was a set of instructions just like I told you and part of it was for her to reveal herself to me, but the other part was for the creation of Sherlock's alibi. The money was just an added incentive to ensure success." She explained.

"So you manipulated me. Why didn't you trust me?" John bit out his voice harsh and gravelly from his barely restrained anger.

A tear slid down her right cheek unbidden and John felt his insides twist painfully.

"That's the problem, John. I did trust you." She answered quietly as more tears flowed down her face.

"What?" He asked not understanding.

Artimes wiped her tears away.

"She trusted you to be you, John; your strong moral principles, your loyalty to me, your courage of conviction, and your faith in Artimes and her abilities. She needed you to be you in order for her plan to work. Any other way and I would still be in a cell." Sherlock elaborated glancing over at the red head.

John thought about what his best friend had said and he remembered what she had said earlier. She had to do things a certain way. He saw in her eyes that she didn't regret lying to him but he saw the pain that this path had put her through. Lying to him had inflicted great wounds on her heart and he knew just how kind that heart was.

She said she would go to whatever lengths were necessary to save Sherlock and now he truly understood what she had meant. He was still royally pissed, but he wasn't going to give her anymore grief about it. She was his friend and through her actions, she had saved his best friend.

"As I said before, I forgive you, but I am still pissed." He stated relaxing a bit.

Relief flooded her eyes and John knew he had made the right call. He couldn't stay angry at her forever, she was just too good.

"I know and thank you." She replied smiling.

She was so unique and special. Sherlock was damn lucky to have her. John smirked inwardly as an idea struck him.

"I still think you're Sherlock's girlfriend. After all, you didn't tell Mycroft off when he said it." John commented finding his perfect revenge.

Artimes gaped at him for a moment.

"I am not his girlfriend, John! Not only that, but I'll have you know that Mycroft had the gall to make a pass at me!" She exclaimed.

Sherlock's head snapped up at that comment.

"Wait…what?" John asked shocked by the new information.

"After you left, we were on our way to Scotland Yard and he said he _liked_ me." She answered her face twisted in disgust.

That definitely got Sherlock's attention. His annoying elder brother had never shown interest in a woman before and now he was interested in Artimes…_his_ _Artimes_. The emotions the detective had buried earlier began to resurface with a vengeance. Jealously and possessiveness were at the forefront of his mind. He fought against the intense emotions with everything he had, but his self control was waning and these emotions were so strong. He focused what little will power he had remaining into keeping his facial features stoic and devoid of emotion.

"What did you say in reply?" John asked completely unaware of his best friend's inner turmoil.

"That the feeling wasn't mutual. I could never have feelings for a man who believes that my best friend is an idiot. It will never happen…ever." Artimes answered repulsed by the very idea of dating Mycroft.

"You mean boyfriend." John countered smiling.

Artimes growled in frustration.

"No, I don't. Sherlock, will you please tell him that I am not your girlfriend?" She pleaded looking over at the detective.

For several moments, Sherlock didn't respond.

"Sherlock?" Artimes called slightly worried.

She rose from the couch, her hands outstretched slightly in front of her.

"She's not my girlfriend." He answered almost robotically and without emotion.

He quickly retreated to his bedroom and closed the door, leaving two very confused people standing in the living room.

"What just happened?" Artimes asked her arms falling limply to her sides.

"That wasn't normal." John answered equally perplexed.

"No kidding. Why don't you head home and check on Mary?" She suggested moving closer to the kitchen.

"What about Sherlock?" He asked unwillingly to leave his friend.

Artimes turned and faced him, a smile on her face.

"Don't worry. I'll find out what's wrong and fix it if I can. I'll ring your mobile when everything's sorted." She promised.

John gave her a meaningful look and she nodded. He sighed heavily and made his way to the door.

"Take care of him, will you?" John replied.

"Don't I always?" Artimes countered.

John nodded and left the room. Artimes turned her attention to Sherlock's bedroom door. To be honest, she had no idea what had just happened. Sherlock was fine one moment and then he was like an emotionally blank slate the next. Normally she could read him relatively easily, but in those few moments, it was nothing but static. She could only conclude that he had done that intentionally, to hide whatever he was feeling. Now she needed to discover what it was that troubled her best friend so much and get it resolved. An emotionally unstable Sherlock Holmes was the most dangerous thing in the world.


	10. Chapter 10: The Decision

Chapter Ten: The Decision

Artimes quietly made her way through the kitchen towards Sherlock's bedroom door. Her mind was already formulating a list of theories as to the detective's odd behavior. She basically figured out that it was something emotional because of his stoicism, but as to what the precise cause of that emotional distress, she didn't have a clue. She would simply have to find out. Upon reaching his door, she knocked lightly.

"Sherlock, I'm coming in." She informed.

Receiving no answer, she opened the door slowly. Sherlock was lying on his bed, his hands folded on his stomach, and his eyes were closed. Artimes knew that position very well. He was deep in thought, but just shy of his mind palace. She made her way over to the bed and sat down next to him.

"Sherlock?" She called her eyes filled with worry.

He made no indication that he had heard her or even acknowledged her presence. Whatever it was that was bothering him was clearly something serious.

"Sher, tell me what's wrong." Artimes requested reaching towards him with her right hand.

Her fingertips brushed along his left cheek lightly and his eyes flew open. Artimes froze at what she saw in his eyes. His eyes were filled with intense emotion, so many that she couldn't identify them all. Dear God, what was happening to Sherlock? His torrential eyes paralyzed her and brought her mind to a standstill.

Suddenly, he grabbed her upper right arm tightly, his grip becoming increasingly more painful.

"Sherlock, you're hurting me." She spoke her voice quivering slightly.

Remorse flickered briefly through his eyes, but his grip did not lessen. Instead, he sat up and looked deep into her eyes. Her heartbeat accelerated as her level of fear began to rise. His eyes were burning into hers, a million and one questions dancing through the steel blue depths. She had no answers to give him, but her heart was breaking in two. Her mind didn't understand but her heart did.

His eyes suddenly filled with intense rage and she could tell that he was blaming her for something, but she didn't know what it was. He quickly stood up and pulled her off the bed. She cried out as his grip tightened further on her arm, undoubtedly leaving bruises from the pressure. Hearing her cries, his eyes flooded with sorrow and guilt.

An emotional war was raging inside of him and there was nothing she could do to help him. In one final bid to either be rid of her or to save her from himself, Sherlock dragged her across the room and tossed her out into the kitchen. She landed on the floor hard and as she looked back at him, he slammed the door in her face.

Artimes just stayed on the floor, staring at the door. She was both terrified and extremely worried at the same time. She had never seen Sherlock like that before, but more importantly, he had never shut her out like he had just done.

So many emotions she had seen, what has she done to Sherlock? He was clearly blaming her for something. Did he hate her for manipulating John? No, it couldn't be something that simple; otherwise he would have reacted differently. No, there was more to this than what she was seeing.

She shakily rose to her feet, clutching her right arm. Her upper arm ached badly from where he had held her. She leaned heavily on the table, her breathing ragged and quick. Fear still coursed through her system as she wobbled slowly to the living room.

As she made her way to the couch, she came to a single conclusion. She was no longer welcomed in Baker Street. She sank down onto the couch and spent a few minutes getting her breathing under control. Once she was a little calmer, she quickly put her socks and boots back on, careful not to irritate her arm any more than necessary. She slipped on her jacket and retrieved her laptop, placing it in her shoulder bag as she lifted the strap over her head.

Artimes wasn't certain what was happening to Sherlock, but she was certain that she was the cause of it. She needed to leave Baker Street. He needed time and space to clear his head and he couldn't do that with her around. Perhaps leaving was for the best, she still needed to solve the case. Besides, if he ever wanted her to return, she would do so without hesitation. All he had to do was ask.

She looked around and saw her influence. Little things changed here and there all around the flat. There were far too many reminders of her presence in 221B Baker Street. He deserved a clean slate and fresh start. She could do that for him even though it would cause her great pain in doing so. With a wave of her hand, the flat reverted back to the state it was in before she had met Sherlock and John.

Her eyes misted over a bit at how cold and empty the flat felt to her, but there wasn't another way. She didn't know what she did wrong, but she hoped that one day she could make things right with Sherlock. She looked over at the door leading to his room, a single tear rolling down her left cheek.

"Forgive me. Goodbye, Sherlock." She whispered as the tear fell from her skin.

Before the tear drop splashed onto the floor, she was gone. Like every writer and author before her, she vanished from the lives of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. The only evidence that she had been there at all was a single droplet of water on the floor.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Sherlock was leaning very heavily on his bedroom door, his forehead touching the wood. His mind was no longer in control of his body's actions. He had not intended to hurt Artimes, but he was so inexperienced in the realm of intense human emotion that he was continuously being blindsided by wave after wave of emotion.

He had no idea how to convey the strong feelings ripping through his mind, leaving his self control scattered like confetti. He knew Artimes was the source for his freshly emerged emotions, but why was this happening now?

Up until yesterday, he viewed her as a close friend and his personal puzzle. He was slightly protective of her like he was with John, but none of the emotions he felt before were even remotely close to the ones he was feeling now. These new feelings were coming from deep within himself, from a place he thought he had buried long ago…his heart.

He gritted his teeth, forced his mind to go deeper and he entered his mind palace.

*Mindscape*

He was in the council chamber again, but it was a complete mess. Desks were shattered, walls were cracked, and chairs were overturned. Random bits of information flowed around him, crashing into things or getting tangled up.

"What has changed? What's different? What could have possibly happened in the last twenty four hours?" Sherlock ranted tripping over a chair.

He stumbled forward and ran into his brother.

"I told you not to get involved, Sherlock." Mycroft stated standing the detective upright again.

Sherlock growled and turned away from him.

"But I'm not involved!" Sherlock exclaimed as he was hit with another wave emotion.

The entire place shook violently as the detective pitched forward. Irene appeared and caught him before he collapsed onto the floor.

"You have to stop resisting it, Sherlock. If you don't, it will kill you." She ordered getting him back onto his feet.

"Resisting what?" He asked his voice filled with exhaustion.

Artimes appeared as Irene and Mycroft disappeared.

"Me, Sherlock. You're resisting me." She answered as he began to stagger his way over to her.

"I don't understand." He replied collapsing into her open arms.

She wrapped her arms around him and kept him standing. The mind palace began shaking again, a new wave of emotion building. Bits and pieces of the palace broke away and disintegrated.

"Listen to me, Sherlock. It's never been more important." She started as he strained against the next wave of emotion.

Sherlock managed to look up at her, his eyes staring into hers.

"How did the story begin?" She asked quietly.

His eyes widened as the words sank in and everything in his mind palace froze in place.

"In an odd twist of fate, Sherlock's life becomes very interesting." He spoke aloud the words echoing at a deafening volume.

His mind palace exploded, the pieces scattering about, but then it reformed itself; everything resetting to the way it was before his emotions run rampant.

*End Mindscape*

Sherlock came back to himself without difficulty and was once again in control of his emotions. He now understood what had happened. She had tried to warn him that things didn't always happen like he would expect it to and she was right. The catalyst _he_ asked for her to create was the reason for his instability.

He had been resisting that catalyst, fighting to remain the same and it nearly destroyed him from the inside out. He had wanted his life to be less boring and he certainly got his wish. He just never expected that he would be changed so profoundly in the process.

He had two choices. The first: to embrace the change willingly, being forever altered and the second: to fight the change and be destroyed. The latter did not sound appealing and the former required a great deal more effort and exploring a realm he was completely alien to. Either way, he needed help.


	11. Chapter 11: The Balance

Chapter Eleven: The Balance

Now that Sherlock understood what had truly transpired, he needed to formulate a solution to attain a proper balance between his heart and his mind. He had sealed away his heart long ago because he couldn't risk caring for anything too much. Sentiment often resulted in mistakes and in his line of work as a consulting detective, mistakes could mean death for not only himself but for John, for Mary, for Lestrade, for Molly, for Mycroft, and for his Artimes. He knew so little about emotions; true, deep, intense, and powerful emotions. He did not know where to begin or even how to begin.

He pushed off the door, only to fall against the wall. His entire body felt like jelly and his legs were having difficulties keeping him upright. Sherlock never knew that emotions could drain him so drastically. It was another reason why he had probably avoided said emotions; it made him weak. After a few moments, he was finally able to stand on his feet without toppling over. He needed assistance that was for certain, but he highly doubted that John would understand the full depth of the change that Sherlock was experiencing. He didn't understand it fully himself.

Artimes was more knowledgeable than he could ever be in the realm of the heart. Perhaps she could help him find the balance he so desperately required to function properly. He opened the door to the empty kitchen. He had not expected her to remain on the floor, so he headed towards the living room. Upon entering, he noticed the distinct lack of warmth in the flat. His home seemed so foreign to him.

Further inspection of his surroundings revealed three very important things to him. The first and most important was that Artimes was nowhere to be seen. The second was that all traces of her influence such as books she had acquired, small knick knacks she had bought at the market, the funny little hat for his skull, and all her belongings were gone. The third and final thing, also the most unusual of the three, was a single drop of water on the floor.

It didn't make any sense for it to be there in the first place. He knelt down and touched the droplet with his fingertip. He then placed the finger with the drop on it in his mouth. Salt water, he frowned slightly. He stood and looked around the room once more. There was nothing else out of place, but the cold feeling he felt before was becoming stronger and loneliness was beginning to seep slowly into his being.

Rationally speaking, there was nothing amiss, but his heart was telling him something very differently. His heart said that there was something terribly wrong and he needed to find out what it was immediately. He exited the living room and began his descent down the stairs.

"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock called as he rounded the bottom of the staircase.

The elderly woman that was his land lady exited her kitchen, drying her hands on a dish towel.

"What is it, dear?" She asked slightly worried.

"Do you know where Artimes is?" He asked.

Mrs. Hudson frowned in confusion.

"Isn't she still upstairs?" She asked.

"No." He answered flatly.

"Well that's odd. No one has come down the stairs since John left ten minutes ago. Oh you know how that old staircase creaks and moans. It's been perfectly quiet." The elderly woman informed.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock replied heading back up the stairs.

"Is everything alright, Sherlock? Did you and Artimes have a little domestic?" She called after him.

He didn't respond and his land lady, thankfully, did not come upstairs to get an answer. He walked back into the living room, intent on putting the pieces together. He looked at the floor where the droplet had been.

Salt water + single drop = Tear Drop

He looked around the flat.

The flat – alterations made by Artimes – her personal belongings – all traces of her presence = Environment Reset

He looked towards the stairs then to the windows.

Stairs didn't creak + windows undisturbed = Vanishing

Putting all the pieces together, he formulated his equation.

Tear Drop + Environment Reset + Vanishing = A writer's departure with extreme emotional distress implied

In other words, Artimes was gone. _His Artimes was gone_. He was completely unprepared for the intense surge of emotion that sent him to his knees unexpectedly.

'Stop resisting me.' Her voice rang out in his mind.

"How can I resist you when you are not even here?" He asked breathing heavily, his head falling back in fatigue.

'Silly Sherlock, I am always with you.' She stated quietly, soft giggling accompanying afterwards.

"How?" He asked as he fell onto his back, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

Artimes appeared beside him, an illusion created by his mind. Her left hand cupped his cheek, her eyes full of such warmth and understanding. He remembered those eyes. They were exactly the same as they were when they first met.

"I'm in your heart." She spoke smiling softly at him.

Sherlock's eyes drifted close as he finally succumbed to his exhaustion.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Artimes reappeared in front of what looked to be a small mansion, but she wasn't an expert or anything considering she didn't know much about British architecture. She was a born and raised American for crying out loud. What really wanted to make the young author cry was the fact that the heavens were not being particularly favorable to her at the moment. It was storming like mad and she was already completely soaked.

She ran towards the mansion with the intent of getting out of the rain, no matter who lived there, and rang the doorbell. While she was waiting, she thought about where she might be. She hadn't really been thinking when she shimmered out of Baker Street. She just left, without knowing where she was going to end up which she had to admit was rather stupid on her part.

She wrapped her arms around herself in a desperate attempt to stay warm. It wasn't exactly London's warmest time of year and being soaked was not helping matters either. Her right arm stung a bit from the sudden movement reminding her of why she was in this mess. She had mucked up big time with Sherlock and she needed to solve his case. If for no other reason than to try and make amends to the consulting detective she cared so much for.

She was giving serious consideration to ringing the doorbell again when the door opened suddenly. The light from the open door blinded her momentarily, forcing her to close her eyes.

"Ms. Blaine?" A male voice asked in surprise.

What the…she knew that voice. Her eyes snapped opened and focused on the figure standing in the doorway. It was none other than Sherlock's elder brother, Mycroft Holmes. Why in the world had she ended up here of all places? Apparently the surprise was mutual, because the elder Holmes looked quite stunned to see her.

"May I come in?" She asked shivering.

"Of course." He answered moving aside to let her pass.

Mycroft took note of her appearance as she entered his home. She was completely drenched, her skin was pale, and her eyes held a barely concealed pain and if he had to wager, desperation. He quickly closed the door to prevent the rain from coming inside and grabbed his overcoat from the hook next to the door. He draped it around her and he did not miss the painful wince when he brushed against her right arm.

"Oh…thank you." She said pulling the coat tighter around her tiny form.

He wondered briefly if she had been injured, but that did not explain her presence at his home. If she had been injured, she would have undoubtedly gone to Baker Street or to the Watsons' home. Why come here, given her very clear animosity of him from earlier that day?

"What happened?" He asked needing more information.

She looked down at the floor before answering him.

"I sort of shimmered out of the flat." She answered her tone barely above a whisper.

She was already at Baker Street, but then why does her right arm cause her such pain? Certainly, his brother would not have injured the woman, would he? Or was it the doctor that had harmed her? Moreover, why did he even care? Such displays of sentiment, even within his own mind, were very abnormal for one such as himself, who prizes logic and reasoning above all else. Yet somehow, he could not completely erase his growing concern for the young woman before him.

He still had too many unanswered questions and not enough data to form an accurate timeline of events within his mind. He took note of her shivering form once more and decided it was best to get her into some dry clothing before they continued their discussion. He motioned for her to follow him and she did so.

"Why?" He asked.

She did not respond for a few moments, meaning that the events were somehow traumatic, but what could rattle the young spitfire that could quite possibly be his match in intellect? For some reason, he did not like the idea of her being emotionally damaged, but he quickly dismissed it as a passing fancy.

"I'm not really sure myself. I wasn't really thinking when I left." She answered finally, her voice quiet and soft.

So she came to his home subconsciously then? That still left the matter of what transpired before she left Baker Street. The woman he met earlier that day did not run from anything and would no doubt walk into Hell if it meant helping someone she cared for, but the woman that trailed after him seemed so small, so fragile, and very, very vulnerable. In the recesses of his mind, the urge to protect the tiny female began to surface, but was quickly squashed. He was above sentiment and _caring_; though he was concerned for her health at this point.

"Well let's get you out of those clothes…" Mycroft began unaware that the red head was now smirking evilly.

"In your dreams, lecher." Artimes interjected.

The elder Holmes faced the young woman, a small smile on his lips. What a fascinating woman she was turning out to be? Perhaps she was not as broken as he once believed.

"It was not meant to be taken in such a vulgar context, Ms. Blaine. I simply meant that you would be more comfortable in dry clothing." He explained.

Artimes chuckled softly; her eyes alight with mischief and amusement. Her sudden change in demeanor caught the official off guard.

"I am well aware of what you meant, Mycroft Holmes, but it was a joke. You know a story with a humorous climax? Lighten up, dearie. You are far too rigid." She replied smiling at his surprised expression.

Mycroft was not entirely certain how to react to the woman. She was unlike anything he had ever encountered before and he found himself liking her more and more with every passing moment.

"I will endeavor to." He responded quite amused despite himself.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Less than twenty minutes later, the duo was in one of the many sitting rooms in Mycroft's home. Artimes was now in dry clothing; her hair was slightly damp and hanging loosely down her back. She was sitting on a very comfortable love seat, her legs slightly tucked under her and her back was reclining against the arm rest.

Mycroft was on the opposite side of the coffee table that sat between them and was in a leather bound plush chair. He was currently pouring tea for her, his eyes glancing towards periodically. He was hyper aware of how she was clinging to her right arm and he was now certain that it had been injured in some way. He handed her the tea and she lifted her right arm absentmindedly to take it. She did her best to keep from wincing, but the pain in her eyes could not be concealed.

"You surprise me, Mycroft." She stated casually, her tea cup now resting on her left hand.

"Oh, how so?" He asked slightly pleased that he had somehow taken her off guard rather than she taking him by surprise.

Artimes's forest green eyes shined with dark humor.

"I never expected for you to have such an assortment of female apparel at your disposal. If I were anyone else, I might actually believe that you were a closet cross dresser." She answered sipping her tea to hide the smile creeping across her face.

Mycroft made face of disapproval.

"I am quite heterosexual, Ms. Blaine, and quite comfortable being a male. I simply prefer to be prepared for any situation that may arise, no matter how unlikely it might be." He countered.

Artimes giggled causing the official to become confused once more.

"Always so serious, dearie. How is it that you find anything amusing when you possess the rigidity of steel, Mycroft?" She asked her eyes taking on a knowing look.

The look in her eyes made his mouth run dry as his heartbeat accelerated. What was it about this tiny, little woman that brought about such strange and unusual physical reactions from him?

"It is not without difficult, I can assure you, but as you have stated before I live in a world of goldfish." He answered trying to slow down his heart rate.

"But even a goldfish can attract the eye if it is unique." She countered a soft smile playing on her lips.

Mycroft swallowed hard, unable to tear his gaze away from the crimson beauty. The woman before him was, in fact, incredibly unique. She possessed intelligence, wit, humor, and something else, something that neither his brother nor himself could ever hope to obtain…heart. She had compassion, warmth, and love and by some miracle, she has struck the perfect balance between one's heart and one's mind. She was truly remarkable and Mycroft had to force down his slowly emerging emotions. It was time to focus on the matter at hand, the matter she was trying desperately to avoid. Why did Artimes flee Baker Street?

"I think it is about time you told me what happened after we parted company at Scotland Yard, don't you?" The official asked looking directly at the crimson haired woman.

**Author's Note: **The plot twist in this chapter about Sherlock's heart being awakened is a necessary evil. As stated in Chapter 1 by John, Sherlock is a very difficult character to write for and this plot twist allows a little bit more wiggle room for his character to develop in. It is always important to have a cause or in this case, catalyst to explain why a character has gone out of character. Don't worry, he won't change too much, but he will be a bit more open with his emotions than he was before.


	12. Chapter 12: The Quest

Chapter Twelve: The Quest

"_I think it is about time you told me what happened after we parted company at Scotland Yard, don't you?" The official asked looking directly at the crimson haired woman._

Artimes sipped her tea for a moment, mulling over her response. She didn't want to mention that it was Sherlock who injured her, but she didn't really see much of a choice. Finally, she sighed heavily and gave the elder Holmes a detailed summary of events including Sherlock's strange behavior.

"That certainly is unusual…even by my brother's standards." Mycroft commented frowning.

Artimes's head snapped up.

"Say that again." She ordered her heart falling into her stomach as a very bad thought flittered across her mind.

"I said that it was unusual…even by my brother's standards." He repeated slightly confused.

The final piece fell into place and her eyes widened in realization. Her tea cup fell to the floor, shattering on impact.

"Artimes?" The official asked surprised and slightly concerned.

"Fuck." She cursed.

"What's wrong?" He asked sitting up straighter in his chair.

"I told him that life didn't always go according to plan. I knew there was going to be consequences for doing what he asked, but I never expected that it would affect him so drastically." She ranted clearly upset.

"What did my idiot brother ask you to do?" Mycroft asked slightly annoyed that Sherlock had pressured Artimes into doing his bidding.

"For starters, don't call my best friend an idiot and secondly, he asked me to create a catalyst." She answered.

"A catalyst for what?" He asked.

She gave him a dry look before responding.

"For someone who claims to be the smart one, you sure are slow." Artimes commented, "Sherlock asked for a catalyst, the idea that sets events into motion."

"Of course. Your occupation is a freelance writer. With your level of intellect, you would have no problem creating what he desired." Mycroft concluded.

The red head growled in annoyance.

"Are all the members of the Holmes family as thick headed as you and Sherlock? Life cannot be controlled! It is its own adventure. Sure, we can affect the outcome by our actions, but we don't just pluck it from thin air! Life has to be lived, experienced…not written. Being a writer isn't about creating whatever world we want or desire. It's about diving into that world, reveling it, celebrating in it, being in it, belonging in it; not just being a spectator or some holier than thou deity that toys with people's lives for sick sport.

Being a writer, especially a good one, is caring about and embracing the characters of that world…for who they are, what they are, and more importantly, what they will become. It is a writer's greatest honor and privilege to share in their adventures and help them grow." She explained passionately, finally revealing what she had been trying to teach Sherlock and John all along.

Mycroft sat there completely stunned. Never before had heard or felt such passion, such conviction. Remarkable was no longer a strong enough word to describe the woman before him. She was completely impossible. Yes, that was it. She was the impossible woman, a goddess sent to humanity to guide them away from their stupidity and arrogance. Moreover, she was someone to be protected…at all costs.

"My apologies, my lady. I was blinded by my ignorance. May I inquire as to what catalyst you utilized to appease my brother?" He asked very respectfully.

Artimes blushed slightly in embarrassment. She hadn't meant to go off him like that, but when she is riled up, she is often times overly passionate and has a tendency to make speeches.

"In an odd twist of fate, Sherlock's life becomes very interesting." Sher answered looking away.

"I see. Brilliantly worded to allow a vast range of outcomes; so much so that you, yourself, could not account for them all. Whatever it is that you require of me, it shall be done." He offered.

"A place to stay and a place for me to work. I need to find out who tried to frame Sherlock, how they did it, and why they did." She answered slightly taken aback the sudden change in Mycroft's demeanor.

She was kind of wondering if she had maybe somehow hurt the official's feelings with her little outburst, but couldn't really see how considering that he was Mycroft.

"My home is yours for as long as you see fit and I will assist you in any way I am able." He replied.

"Thank you, Mycroft. That means a great deal to me." She responded her eyes showing her gratitude.

"The honor is mine, my lady. You should retire for the evening. There is much work to be done." Mycroft suggested.

Artimes nodded her head in agreement.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

"What do you mean 'She's gone'?" John asked standing by his chair.

"Exactly as I have said, John." Sherlock answered his right arm resting on the mantle of the fireplace.

"She wouldn't just leave without saying goodbye. What did you say to her because this wouldn't be the first time that the two of you didn't agree on something?" John asked trying to stay calm, but where Artimes was concerned, he was very much like an over protective big brother.

Sherlock closed his eyes as he was filled with such guilt for his actions. In his ignorance, he had chased her away without meaning to and she was gone. His jaw tightened as the emotions began to build up inside him.

'Calm down, Sher. Tell him what you discovered.' Artimes's voice whispered in his mind.

Since her disappearance, Artimes's voice often spoke as the voice of reason and would help him come back from the edge and got him to focus. It was ironic really. An emotional being like Artimes was now the voice of logical thinking within in his mind.

"Do you remember the catalyst she created?" Sherlock asked reopening his eyes and looking over at the army doctor.

"Yes, it got you arrested, but what does that have to do with Artimes leaving?" John asked.

"My being arrested was only the tip of the ice berg, John. It did so much more." Sherlock answered.

"What did it do?" The doctor asked curious despite his anger.

"It has done what I thought was impossible." The detective started.

"Sherlock…what did it do?" John asked becoming slightly worried.

"There were times you thought I wasn't human, because I didn't care or show sentiment, but you're wrong. I do care, John, more so than even I think is possible. The catalyst has awoken my heart and brought it to the surface." Sherlock answered his eyes revealing many emotions at once.

The army doctor stared at his friend in both shock and confusion.

"What? What does that mean…exactly?" John asked trying to understand.

Sherlock took a deep breath and removed his arm from the mantle.

"The catalyst has awoken the deeper emotions within me, emotions that I have buried or ignored throughout the years. To put it simply, it's making me change, John, and I was resisting that change. I fought against it and it was tearing me apart from the inside out. During my…emotional upheaval, I injured Artimes's right arm by gripping it too tightly and I threw her from my bedroom. She undoubtedly took that as a sign that I no longer wanted her and in her distress, she left Baker Street." Sherlock explained his voice filled with guilt, anger, and pain.

'Hush now, everything will be alright. You'll see.' Artimes whispered in his mind, settling his emotions once more.

"So you feel emotions like everyone else?" John asked trying to grasp what his best friend was saying.

"More or less; though the deeper emotions are more intense and thus nearly impossible for me to regulate and control. I am in uncharted waters, John. I don't know what to do, but I do know that Artimes is the key." Sherlock answered.

'Clever boy.' She whispered.

"Okay, so we need to find Artimes. Where would she go?" John asked.

"I don't know. She reset the flat when she left, removing all clues that may have lead me to a plausible deduction." The detective answered.

"We will have to look for her the old fashioned way. I'm certain that Lestrade will help." John suggested.

"Yes, you go to Scotland Yard and I will spread the word through my homeless network." Sherlock replied walking across the room and grabbing his jacket.

"Sherlock." John called after the detective had put on his coat.

Sherlock looked back at his best friend.

"I know what she means to you, Sherlock. You were never able to hide that fact from me, even before the catalyst, so I make this promise to you…we will find her and we will bring her home." John vowed.

For a moment, Sherlock didn't respond. He had always known that John was a good friend, so when he was overcome with the feelings of warmth and gratitude that he felt towards his best friend, he wasn't really surprised.

"Thank you, John." He answered finally, his eyes conveying everything he was feeling.

John nodded and the two of them left 221B Baker Street to begin their quest to find their missing friend and bring her back to where she belongs.

**Author's Note:** You are probably thinking that it was far too simple for Artimes to forge a friendship with Mycroft. Trust me, she may view him as a friend, but quite often she will want to kill him. As for Sherlock and John, be warned that we won't get back to them properly until Chapter 15. Chapter 13 will be some back story for Artimes's and Sherlock's friendship and Chapter 14 is when Artimes finally gets a break in the case. So be patient for the next chapter will be coming soon, but it might be a few days. My father will be visiting for two weeks and that will not leave much time for writing. I do apologize in advance for the delays.


	13. Chapter 13: The Unlikely Friendship

Chapter Thirteen: The Unlikely Friendship

It has been four days since Artimes left Baker Street. She was currently holed up in one of the smaller studies of Mycroft's home. The wall she was currently facing was filled to the brim with papers, documents, and photographs. The walls to her left and right were also full. The redwood desk on her left hand side held her laptop and several stacks of files. Her shoulder bag and crimson leather jacket hung on the back of the office chair.

Artimes has been attempting to formulate a list of possible suspects that closely resembled the consulting detective in physical appearance from all known and not-so-known enemies of Sherlock, John, and even Mycroft. Thus far, her labors had proven fruitless. Not a single person matched Sherlock's appearance closely enough to be the murderer she had seen in the CCTV footage.

She touched her upper right arm absentmindedly, wincing from the unexpected pain. Even after four days, the pain in her arm had not gone away. Mycroft had had her arm examined and discovered that the muscles themselves were heavily bruised. The pain had dulled while her arm remained motionless, but was still very present when she moved or touched her arm.

As of now, her mind was split into two separate mental tracks. The first track was trying to solve the case and the second was trying to figure out how things had gotten so bad between her and Sherlock. Sure, they had their fights, considering he was of logic and reasoning while she was of the heart and soul. They did not agree on a lot of things, but they did enjoy each other's company and commonly did not feel homicidal towards the human race when together.

Things had not always been so easy for them. Sherlock had issues and so did she. Artimes had spent a great deal of time believing that she was worthless or useless. Her family had made it quite clear what their opinion of her was and so Artimes was constantly trying to self-sabotage her relationships with others, not always consciously. She did everything in her power to push Sherlock away. She invaded his personal space, challenged him on everything, and deliberately pushed him beyond his comfort zone.

The consultant detective was either aware of what she was doing or was actively trying to overcome every challenge she presented to him. He has taken her by surprise more than once, especially when she had invaded his bedroom on her first night in the flat.

*Flashback*

While the boys finished up with the last few interviews, Artimes took a shower. A thought occurred to her while she was drying off and she smirked slightly. She quietly made her way to Sherlock's bedroom which fortunately was right next to the bathroom and slipped inside. She put on her undergarments and sifted through the detective's clothes, chuckling a bit at some of the bizarre uniforms he had collected. Finding what she desired, a black long sleeved, buttoned down shirt, she quickly slipped it on and buttoned it, leaving the top three buttons undone.

Hearing the doctor's goodbyes, she quietly slipped beneath the covers of Sherlock's bed, propping up her head with her right hand. She tried very hard not to smile like a giddy school girl when she heard the detective coming towards his room. Finally, he entered the room and upon noticing the red head, he stopped in his tracks.

"What are you doing?" He asked removing his suit jacket.

"Going to bed." She answered smiling.

"In my bed?" He asked looking to be slightly uncomfortable with the idea.

She couldn't blame him for his discomfort. She felt rather exposed herself, but she ignored it for the chance to put him off his game.

"Where else am I going to sleep?" She countered.

He hung up his suit jacket and removed his shoes and socks.

"There is another room upstairs." He commented removing his shirt and letting it fall to the floor.

She watched him closely as he continued preparing for bed. She was very aware of his sideways glances in her direction. So this little maneuver had indeed caught him off guard and was making him a little shy, how cute.

"No such luck. Mrs. Hudson said that I was your responsibility since I was your guest and that it was up to you to see to my comfort." Artimes replied.

Actually, she had convinced Mrs. Hudson to go along with this little scheme and the elderly woman was more than happy to agree with it, saying something about Sherlock needing adult supervision. Artimes and Mrs. Hudson had hit it off right from the start, given that the writer helped the landlady here and there during the day. Apparently, the boys had never offered to help her and were quite commonly rushing about like idiots for some reason or another.

"I do believe there is a couch in the living room that would accommodate your sleeping requirements." Sherlock stated dropping his pants to put on his sleep wear.

The writer raised an eyebrow in disbelief. Sherlock Holmes, the great consulting detective, had just relegated her, a young woman, into a very public sleeping arrangement. Oh hell no, she was not sleeping on the damn couch and she most certainly was not going to let Mr. Deduction boss her around. He wanted to play logic, she'll play logic.

"We are two consenting adults, Sherlock, and I am quite certain that we could share the same sleeping accommodations without any incidents occurring." She countered logically, scooting over to the other side of the bed.

He turned and faced her, his eyes narrowing slightly. She could tell from his eyes that he had not expected her to react logically to the situation which meant he was testing her reaction. Under normal circumstances, a woman would feel insulted or very embarrassed about sleeping in such a public venue. However, this situation was far from normal given that the players were a high functioning sociopath and a master of creative thought. He nodded and joined her in the bed without another word. He reached over and turned off the lamp and the pair went to sleep.

*End Flashback*

She found it ironic that at some point during the night, she had somehow ended up with her head on his chest and his arm was wrapped around her in a very possessive manner. She smiled slightly at the memory. That night marked the beginning of their very unusual friendship.

Their friendship was slow at first and they were commonly dancing around one another, testing the waters so to speak, but things quickly became strange and well, slightly explosive when Artimes lost her temper and revealed a bit of her past. It was the day she had first cooked him dinner and she remembered the moment when they had truly connected. Sherlock realized that there was far more to the temperamental red head then he had first thought.

*Flashback*

Artimes milled around the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on dinner. She had cooked fried collard greens, mash potatoes (from scratch), brown and serve rolls, a bit of broccoli, and two steaks. She had wanted to make a proper Southern meal for the consultant detective and she didn't do too badly, if she said so herself.

The writer perked up when she heard Sherlock coming up the stairs and quickly set the table. He had spent a great deal of the day over at John's and Mary's house, no doubt trying to give the hormonally revved up assassin another target besides her husband. She smiled slightly when she heard him pause. Sherlock was always very observant and he had undoubtedly picked up the very present scents wafting from the kitchen. Following his nose, he walked into the kitchen, confusion etched on his face.

"Surprise and welcome home, Sherlock! Dinner is served." She stated happily, ushering him to the table.

"You cooked dinner?" He asked his tone slightly surprised.

"Of course! I wanted to make you something special for when you came home and voila, dinner! Best hurry up before it gets cold." Sher answered beaming at him.

He sat down hesitantly at the table.

"Why would you make me dinner?" He asked seeming to be honestly confused by her actions.

"Because it's your flat." She answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Not to mention, it would be rude not to include him. He was her friend and she liked doing special things for her friends.

"It is, but what does that have to do with dinner?" He asked as she placed two plates of food on the table.

She sat down and looked over at her confused friend.

"Why are you so surprised that I made you dinner?" Artimes countered trying to figure out why this was such a foreign concept to the detective.

"It's simply that we are not friends and in no way familiar enough with one another for such an event like this to occur." He answered picking up his fork and starting his meal.

Artimes felt like she had just been slapped. It was a given that they had known each other for less than six days and what he said was a perfectly sound analysis of the situation, if seen from the perspective of a casual observer, but she had great deal of knowledge concerning his back story. She kept forgetting that he knew next to nothing about her. In her mind, Sherlock was her friend and it still hurt that he didn't feel the same.

"Oh." She replied looking down at her plate.

The two ate dinner in silence, but inside her mind, her anger and frustration were building. It wasn't until both had finished that Sherlock spoke.

"I've upset you." He stated as she stood up from the table.

"Don't be ridiculous." She replied her voice oddly cold as she took their dishes to the sink.

Sherlock rose from his seat and came to stand next to her, leaning his hip on the counter.

"Artimes." He said quietly, trying to get her attention.

She stopped in her movements and looked up at him.

"In your mind, we're not friends, but in mine, we are." She stated her tone taking on a softer edge.

"Why? We barely know each other." He replied crossing his arms.

"You're partially correct. You don't know me, but I know you." She countered.

"Therein lays the problem." He stated casually.

Something inside Artimes finally snapped and the anger and frustration she had held at bay burst free from its cage and made her tongue as sharp as a double edged sword.

"God, you would think that I would be used to this!" She spat her eyes flashing in rage.

"Used to what?" Sherlock asked both taken aback and confused by her sudden outburst.

"Used to people not wanting me…or only needing me as long as I'm useful." She answered acidly, her voice revealing a level of pain that she had never shown to anyone in her life.

The detective's eyes widened in surprise. He uncrossed his arms and faced her properly.

"Is that what you think? That I'm allowing you to stay because I think you're useful to me?" He asked his tone slightly incredulous.

"Isn't it? That is the whole point behind your little quest to find a writer. You wanted a writer to create cases for you to solve so that _you_ wouldn't be bored. The _only_ reason why you have allowed me to stay this long is because _I make you less bored_!" She exclaimed her voice filled with anger and pain.

He took her face in his hands and looked directly into her eyes.

"You're wrong." He said quietly, his eyes burning with an emotion she couldn't comprehend.

"What?" She asked as his unwavering gaze evaporated her anger in an instant.

"You're wrong. Yes, you are useful. Yes, with you around, I am not bored, but they pale in comparison for why you are here." He answered.

Artimes felt the blood rushing to her face, her cheeks heating up slightly. She had never seen Sherlock like this before and it was doing some funny things to her body.

"Why am I here?" She whispered.

Sherlock opened his mouth to reply, but no words came. The two simply stared at each other for several moments. With every passing second, Artimes's body was heating up in ways she never thought possible. What was he doing to her? Finally, the detective found his voice.

"Because…_I want you to be_." He answered his voice filled with sincerity unlike anything she had ever heard from the detective.

She brought her hands up and covered his, leaning into his left hand a bit. She smiled at him, her eyes soft and warm.

"So long as you want me, I will stay and when you don't, I will leave." She replied.

"There will never be a need." He countered.

"In the unlikely event that it does happen and I leave, all you have to do is ask me to return and I will do so without hesitation." She stated her eyes twinkling with humor.

Sherlock's eyes softened as he released her face and within in moments, he was back to the cold, logical detective that he was, but Artimes didn't mind because she had seen it…she had seen his heart.

*End Flashback*

Artimes's eyes misted over, but she refused to cry. There was still too much to do and she shouldn't waste anymore time reminiscing. She had to solve Sher's case. The usage of Sherlock's nickname within her thoughts brought forth another memory to the forefront of her mind. It was the day that the consulting detective had struck his first, true compromise with her and allowed her to call him Sher.

*Flashback*

Artimes and Sherlock were currently in the shopping district a few miles over from Baker Street. The young writer had, by some miracle, convinced the consulting detective that they needed to get out of the flat for a while and he agreed, albeit begrudgingly when he learned that their true destination was the shopping district.

"Oh come on! Stop looking so constipated. Relax and have some fun, Sher!" Artimes said happily, walking backwards through the crowd so she could face the detective.

"Sherlock." He replied.

"Hm." She said tilting her head to the side cutely.

"My name is Sherlock, not Sher." He clarified annoyed.

"If I remember correctly then your name is William Sherlock Scott Holmes. I could always call you Will or _Willy_." She stated her eyes glinting evilly.

"You wouldn't." He replied calling her bluff.

"Wouldn't I, Sher?" She countered a dark smirk on her lips.

"Sherlock." He stated as she turned around to walk normally.

"Sher." She replied practically skipping down the sidewalk.

The debate over his _nickname_ went on for over an hour until Artimes became distracted by something in one of the shop windows.

"It's perfect!" She exclaimed excitedly, drawing Sherlock's attention.

"What's perfect?" He asked trying to locate what had caught his companion's eye.

"That little hat, it's perfect." She answered pointing to a small black cowboy hat with a red band around it in the window display.

"What is it perfect for?" He asked trying to understand why she was so happy about an obviously useless item.

"For your skull, Sher." She stated smiling.

Some of the people passing by had heard her comment and gave the pair odd or worried looks, but both ignored them.

"Why does it need a hat?" He asked indulging her just this once and allowing his pet name for the moment.

She blinked a few times before answering.

"Well you do talk to it on an occasion and it would help pizzazz it up a bit." She answered walking around him.

"Pizzazz?" He echoed his face scrunching up at her odd phrasing.

"Come on, Sher, live a little." She commented opening the shop door.

"Sherlock." He replied.

"Sher." She countered her voice singsong as she walked into the shop.

She quickly bought the hat and put it in the inner left pocket of her jacket. Sherlock rolled his eyes and she giggled happily. The two exited the shop and the debate over his nickname began anew. There was a brief pause in the debate when the two became separated. When Artimes realized that the detective was no longer by her side, she was almost across the street. She turned around looking for her lost companion. She spotted him on the other side of the street and started making her way back across the crosswalk.

"Sher!" She called waving to him as she went, trying to get his attention.

She noticed when his face changed from annoyance to surprise and she followed his gaze towards the intersection. Her eyes widened in shock as she saw a car speeding towards her. There was no way she could avoid it. Her eyes snapped shut as she waited for the impact, only to be hit from the side.

She rolled several times and was slightly surprised that she hadn't cracked her head on the asphalt yet. It was then she realized that she was not alone and that someone was cradling her head gently with their right arm, preventing injury.

"Artimes…Artimes, are you alright?" Sherlock's voice asked, finally registering in her confused mind.

She opened her eyes slowly and the detective's face came into view. She was taken aback by the level of concern that shined in his eyes and if she didn't know any better, she would swear that he was worried about her, maybe even a little afraid which was completely impossible. Sherlock never, or she should say rarely felt fear. It had to be very special circumstances…like being drugged or something.

"Are you alright?" He repeated moving the hair that had fallen into her face with his left hand.

She blinked a few times, finally coming out of her daze, and sat up slowly.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Sherlock." She answered shaking her head a bit to clear her thoughts.

"Sher." He replied.

She looked up at him in confusion.

"Huh?" She said intelligently.

"You may call me Sher…if that is what you wish." He clarified.

She raised her eyebrows in disbelief, completely blindsided by his statement.

"It took me nearly becoming road kill for you to let me call you Sher?" She asked bewildered.

He thought about it for a moment.

"Yes." He answered finally.

He was the most ridiculous man she had ever met, but that is what made him so damn likable.

"You're a bloody psychopath, Sher." She commented as a smile began to creep onto her face.

"High functioning sociopath." He corrected automatically.

Both laughed at the idiocy of it all before standing up and continuing their outing.

*End Flashback*

Sherlock had saved her life, soothed her heart, and made her feel truly wanted. They had fought many times before, but never like this. He had never hurt her before, at least not physically. He had never raised a hand against her and she wondered if the reason he had done so this time was because she had been afraid of him. She scowled. No, that wasn't it at all.

She remembered how his eyes had been like a raging storm, filled with countless emotions. With that level of emotion happening within an individual who rarely succumbed to his deeper feelings, the entire experience would have undoubtedly thrown him for a loop, causing him to act irrationally and in a chaotic manner.

She gasped as a thought occurred to her. Sherlock hadn't meant to hurt her at all, she could see that in his eyes, but he had so little self-control remaining under such a high level emotional onslaught. He didn't want to get rid of her. Sherlock was trying to save her…_from himself_. He may not have fully understood his actions, but Artimes did. With that thought in mind, her eyes burned bright as the fires of determination were rekindled.

She would solve this case. She had to…for Sherlock.

"Just you watch me, Sher. I'll make you proud." Artimes spoke aloud, her eyes returning to the wall of suspects.

**Author's Note:** Tada! I hope that helps you understand a little better about how Artimes and Sherlock became friends. Chapter 14: The Lead will reveal why she went to Mycroft's house, amongst other rather shocking facts. Chapter 15 is when we get back to Sherlock and John and a few flashbacks shining light on how John and Artimes became friends; though personally, it really isn't that hard for John. Sherlock is the one that takes an Act of Congress plus several vetoes just to get anywhere with him.


	14. Chapter 14: The Lead

Chapter Fourteen: The Lead

"_Just you watch me, Sher. I'll make you proud." Artimes spoke aloud, her eyes returning to the wall of suspects._

"Talking to yourself again, my lady?" Mycroft asked entering the room.

Her eyebrow twitched slightly. She was at the point of wanting to kill the elder Holmes, but she still needed his cooperation. He certainly did have a knack for showing up at the most inconvenient times and seemed to enjoy mocking her when she was doing self-conversations. She had snapped at him more than once about his constant hovering until he had finally gotten the point and left her alone…until now.

"Hmph. This had better be important, _Mikey_." She answered turning around and crossing her arms.

She had recently gotten into the habit of calling him Mikey when he annoyed her…which was actually quite often. The elder Holmes glared at the authoress with extreme malcontent.

"The name I was given at birth was Mycroft, not Mikey." He stated coldly.

She smirked at his sour expression.

"Get to the point, Mikey." She replied her eyes glinting evilly.

With his jaw clenched, he held out a manila folder and she took it.

"It seems you were right." The official commented.

"I usually am, but what about this time?" She asked as she flipped open the folder and examined the contents.

"On the day of the murder, Sherlock received a call from a mobile phone. We attempted to back trace it to its origins, but it was rerouted through several highly trafficked satellite feeds and was completely lost. The folder contains a transcript of the conversation." Mycroft informed.

Artimes frowned and began to pace back and forth as she analyzed the transcript.

"The caller was female, judging by the hysterics. She's American, Upper East coast going by the cadence and lingo. She must have been a very good actress to actually convince Sherlock to leave the flat. I mean, seriously, he may be a hero, but even he draws the line at damsels in distress. She made him believe her plight was real, thus luring him out of Baker Street so he wouldn't have an alibi for the murder. Since he joined up with me later in the evening, it's a good bet that he wasn't able to find this mystery caller which would explain his foul mood at dinner that night." She rattled off barely acknowledging the elder Holmes' presence.

"Right on all counts, my lady." The official concurred.

Artimes stopped pacing and faced the front wall covered in documents.

"Here's the kicker. How does she tie in with the murder?" The red head asked gesturing towards the wall.

"On that note, any progress?" Mycroft asked.

"None whatsoever. I have checked every whisper, every slight, every grudge, and every enemy. I even went so far as to check their relatives, their associates, and even _their_ enemies. Not a single person has come close to matching Sherlock's physical appearance nor did any of them have the mental capacity to frame him in the first place. I've run into a dead end." She answered dropping the folder onto the desk.

Her dejection was written all over her face and the elder Holmes could see just how much she was disappointed in herself. He could not allow her to continue being in such a state. It was simply too painful to observe.

"You are a master of imagination, my lady. I have no doubt that you will discover a creative solution to this puzzle." Mycroft stated barely concealing his annoyance.

Artimes's head snapped up at his statement, her eyes going wide with sudden realization. She was a complete and total idiot for not realizing it sooner.

"Oh. Imagination and creativity. Oh my God, I'm looking in the wrong place!" She exclaimed.

"Pardon?" The official asked slightly confused by the sudden shift in her mood.

She waved her left hand around the room, all the documents, papers, images, and files disappeared from the walls and shot towards her hand like beams of light. They merged together into a single compact disc inside a green cd case with a transparent cover. She smirked slightly. Being a writer had its perks. She quickly placed the cd case into her shoulder bag.

"My lady?" Mycroft asked trying to understand her actions.

Without a word to the stunned official, she whipped her left hand towards the back and left walls, new papers and images appearing. Ignoring the pain in her right arm, she whipped her right hand towards the front and right walls, repeating the process. With another wave her left hand, several filing cabinets appeared around the room and every surface, minus the floor, filled with files and folders. Once her task was completed, she turned and faced the confused man.

"Still so slow, _Mikey_. You're the one who said it; imagination and creativity. I was looking in the wrong place or more accurately, at the wrong _people_." She stated smirking.

Mycroft caught on quickly.

"My brother and Dr. Watson have been conducting interviews for the past two months in an attempt to find a suitable writer to create cases for them to solve." He replied.

"Precisely. Thousands of writers have been in and out of Baker Street, some of them more than once. One of them may not have taken too kindly to being rejected and sought to get even. What better way to get revenge on the consultant detective then by framing him for murder. By placing him at the center of his own case, he would be unable to gather information and data and it would make it nearly impossible for him to solve it. However, the murderer made one very big mistake." She stated her eyes practically glowing with excitement.

"What mistake?" Mycroft asked more than happy to play along.

He much preferred the excited Artimes rather than the dejected one. She grinned like the Cheshire cat.

"Me, they didn't factor me into the equation." She answered.

"They?" The official echoed.

The red head gave him a 'You're an idiot' look.

"What? Well of course they, the murderer and the hysterical American. In the CCTV footage, the murderer was clearly male, given his height, build, and overall appearance and the caller was clearly female. There is not a single man alive that can fool Sherlock Holmes into believing that he is a woman in the throes of terror and hysteria." She clarified a deadpanned expression on her face.

"Please continue." He replied.

"Right, by not taking into account the possibility that there was another intelligent mind that could solve the case while Sherlock was in jail, they left the path wide open for me to step in, create an alibi, and secure Sherlock's release from police custody. Thereby enabling him to solve his case, but there is a problem." She continued.

The official's eyebrows furrowed slightly. Artimes was more than adequate to solve his idiot brother's case, so what was this problem she spoke of? Was it Sherlock's recent violent behavior that troubled her so?

"What problem?" Mycroft asked going with the direct approach.

"My catalyst." She answered.

"What about it?" He asked.

"My catalyst had _nothing_ to do with Sherlock being arrested, but had _everything_ to do with his strange behavior. Everyone assumed that the catalyst was the cause for Sherlock being arrested because it happened a few hours after I wrote it, but the crime, itself, had already been committed two weeks prior. It was simply a matter of time before the footage was discovered. My catalyst may have simply brought it to light sooner than expected or maybe it had nothing to do with it all, given that footage from the CCTV network is reviewed on a bi-weekly basis.

The one thing that happened _after_ the catalyst was created was the way Sherlock reacted to me. I was the one who wrote the catalyst, so it makes logical sense that whatever is happening to Sherlock is in direct relation to me. That's why Sherlock reacted so violently to my presence. He knew something was wrong, that something was happening to him, and he didn't want to hurt me." She answered.

"But he did hurt you." Mycroft countered glancing at her right arm briefly, his eyes burning with anger for a split second.

Artimes let an exasperated sigh.

"Yes, he did, but it was the only way to get me _away_ from him. He was trying to protect me, Mycroft. He knew me well enough to know that I would react emotionally to the situation and in doing so, I would leave Baker Street. He saved me." She stated.

"But how is your catalyst a problem?" He asked putting aside his anger for the moment.

She rolled her eyes in irritation. Mycroft could be so dense at times. That was the drawback of being a purely logical being. He simply didn't understand things on an emotional level.

"Sherlock is out of jail, but whatever is happening to him is affecting him on an emotional level. I seriously doubt that his mind is anywhere near the idea of proving his innocence. Therefore, the entire case hinges on one thing." She answered.

"And that is?" Mycroft asked.

"Me. Sherlock is incapacitated by my catalyst, John is a soldier not a genius, and you have your duties as a government official to contend with and you simply don't have the time to solve something this trivial. I'm the only one who has a chance at solving this thing, but on a subconscious level, I knew I needed help. I needed a place to stay, a space to work, and someone who was on par with Sherlock in intellect. Only one person could fulfill all those requirements, so when I shimmered out of the flat with no specific destination in mind, my subconscious brought me here…to you." She answered.

"I must say, my lady, you continue to impress me. There are so few in the world who can truly comprehend the intricate subtleties of their life and you do so with an ease and grace unlike anything I have ever witnessed. Is there anything else that you require?" He asked.

Artimes was trying very hard to hold onto her usual dislike for the elder Holmes, but when he said things like that, she found it very hard _not_ to like him. Her mind settled after a moment and she realized that there was only one thing truly on her mind…Sherlock.

"I need you to go to Baker Street." She answered.

The official's eyes narrowed.

"Why?" He asked his tone hard.

"I have a better one. Why ask such a stupid question, _Mikey_? I need to know how Sherlock is doing and how my catalyst is affecting him. Look, I know that Sherlock hurt me, I'm not disputing that, and I am probably not his favorite person at the moment, but he's my best friend. He's hurting and it is all my fault. You can't blame me for worrying about him, so please, do this for me." She pleaded as tears began to fill her eyes.

His jaw clenched tightly. His foolish brother had injured her and treated her like filth and yet she still cares for him, worries for him, and sheds tears for him. His brother was not worthy of the loyalty this woman was showing to him and he had a burning desire to rid the world of Sherlock Holmes, but he could never act on that desire because the loss of his idiot brother would most likely kill the young authoress. He sighed heavily.

"Very well." He replied turning to leave.

"One more thing." She started as he stopped.

"Yes, my lady?" He asked glancing back at her.

"Pass along a message for me. Tell him that if he wants me to come back, all he has to do is ask." She answered softly.

"Of course." He answered leaving.

He would see to it that his dear brother would never hear her message. He had hurt her once and he will not allow her to be harmed again. Artimes turned back to the front wall, a small smile on her face and completely unaware of Mycroft's treachery, having complete faith in the elder Holmes.

"You can frame, but you cannot hide." Artimes said smirking.


End file.
